W  JUSTIN  HUNTLY  MCCARTHY 


CALIF.  T.TO«AT,Y. 


& 


* 


* 


THE     DUKE'S 
MOTTO 


A  MELODRAMA 


BY 

JUSTIN  HUNTLY  MCCARTHY 

AUTHOR  OF 

"SERAPHICA"  "IF  I  WERE  KING" 

"THE  PROUD  PRINCE" 

ETC.    ETC. 


NEW    YORK    AND     LONDON 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

MC  MVI  I  I 


* 


NOVELS  BY 
JUSTIN  HUNTLY  McCARTHY 

THE  GORGEOUS  BORGIA.     Post  8vo       .     .     .  $1.50 

SERAPHICA.     Post  8vo 1.50 

THE  DUKE'S  MOTTO.     Post  8vo 1.50 

IF  I  WERE  KING.    Illustrated.   Post  8vo     .     .  1.50 

MARJORIE.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo    ....  1.50 

THE  DRYAD     Post  8vo 1.50 

THE  LADY  OP  LOYALTY  HOUSE.     Post  8vo     .  1.50 

THE  PROUD  PRINCE.     Post  8vo 1.50 

THE  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE.     Post  8vo    .     .     .  1.50 

THE  ILLUSTRIOUS  O'HAGAN.     Post  8vo     .     .  1.50 

NEEDLES  AND  PINS.    Illustrated.    Post  8vo     .  1.50 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  N.  Y. 


Copyright,  1908,  by  HARPKR  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  August,  1908. 


DEDICACE 


A  VICTORIEN  SARDOU 
MAITRE, 

Voila  un  melodrame  que  j'ai  fait,  le  dernier  de 
plusieurs  me'lodrames  anglais  qui  ont  Lagardere 
pour  heros.  Des  mots  remplacent  1'action,  des  mots 
remplacent  le  decor,  les  costumes,  et  les  accessoires; 
mais  enfin  ce  pastiche  n'est  qu'une  piece  et  non  un 
roman.  Je  1'ai  fait  pour  Lewis  Waller,  acteur 
romantique  s'il  en  fut,  et  grandement  doue  des 
qualites  qui  appartiennent  par  tradition  a  Lagardere. 
J'ai  su,  il  y  a  longtemps,  grace  a  M.  Jules  Claretie,  que 
vous  e"tiez  le  vrai  createur  de  ce  paladin,  Lagardere, 
pair  de  d'Artagnan,  pair  de  Cyrano,  pair  presque  de 
Roland  et  d'Olivier.  Et  si  je  ne  1'avais  pas  su, 
j'aurais  pu  1'apprendre  dernierement  en  lisant  ce 
livre  aussi  plein  de  charme  que  d'erudition,  "Les 
Anciens  Theatres  de  Paris"  de  M.  Georges  Cain. 
Mais  je  crois  que  cette  verite  est  connue  de  peu  de 
monde  dans  les  pays  ou  se  parle  la  langue  anglaise, 
que  quand  on  loue  "Le  Bossu"  de  FeVal  on  doit 
aussi  louer  "Le  Bossu"  de  Sardou. 

XIV.-I.-MCMVIII. 


2131509 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  SEVEN  DEVILS i 

II.  THE  THRUST  OF  NEVERS 13 

III.  A  BUYER  OF  BLADES 32 

IV.  THE  LITTLE  PARISIAN 48 

V.  THE  PARRY  TO  THE  THRUST  OF  NEVERS       .     .  62 

VI.  THE  MOAT  OF  CAYLUS 73 

VII.  BROTHERS-IN-ARMS 82 

VIII.  THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  MOAT 91 

IX.  THE  SCYTHE  OF  TIME 100 

X.  A  VILLAGE  FAIR 108 

XI.  ^Esop  REDUX 114 

XII.  FLORA 124 

XIII.  CONFIDENCES 132 

XIV.  "I  AM  HERE!" 139 

XV.  THE  KING'S  WORD 152 

XVI.  SHADOWS 159 

XVII.  IN  THE  GARDEN 172 

XVIII.  THE  FACTION  OF  GONZAGUE 185 

XIX.  THE  HALL  OF  THE  THREE  Louis     ....  198 

XX.  A  CONFIDENTIAL  AGENT 209 

XXI.  THE  PRINCESS  DE  GONZAGUE 319 

XXII.  THE  FAMILY  COUNCIL 225 

XXIII.  THE  KING'S  BALL 237 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXIV.  THE  ROSE-COLORED  DOMINO 247 

XXV.  THE  GLOVE  OF  COCARDASSE 257 

XXVI.  THE  REWARD  OF  ^Esop 266 

XXVII.  ^Esop  IN  LOVE 278 

XXVIII.  THE  SIGNATURE  OF  ^SOP 290 

XXIX.  THE  DEAD  SPEAKS 298 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 


THE    SEVEN    DEVILS 

IT  was  very  warm  in  the  inn  room,  but  it  was  so 
much  warmer  outside,  in  the  waning  flames  of  the 
late  September  evening,  that  the  dark  room  seemed 
veritably  cool  to  those  who  escaped  into  its  shelter 
from  the  fading  sunlight  outside.  A  window  was  open 
to  let  in  what  little  air  was  stirring,  and  from  that 
window  a  spectator  with  a  good  head  might  look 
down  a  sheer  drop  of  more  than  thirty  feet  into  the 
moat  of  the  Castle  of  Caylus.  The  Inn  of  the  Seven 
Devils  was  perched  on  the  lip  of  one  rock,  and  Caylus 
Castle  on  the  lip  of  another.  Between  the  two  lay 
the  gorge,  which  had  been  partially  utilized  to  form 
the  moat  of  the  castle,  and  which  continued  its  way 
towards  the  Spanish  mountains.  Beyond  the  castle 
a  bridge  spanned  the  ravine,  carrying  on  the  road 
towards  the  frontier.  The  moat  itself  was  dry  now, 
for  war  and  Caylus  had  long  been  disassociated,  and 
France  was,  for  the  moment,  at  peace  with  her  neigh- 

i 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

bor,  if  at  peace  with  few  other  powers.  A  young 
thirteenth  Louis,  a  son  of  the  great  fourth  Henri,  now 
sat  upon  the  throne  of  France,  and  seemingly  believed 
himself  to  be  the  ruler  of  his  kingdom,  though  a  newly 
made  Cardinal  de  Richelieu  held  a  different  opinion, 
and  acted  according  to  his  conviction  with  great  per- 
tinacity and  skill. 

Inside  the  Inn  of  the  Seven  Devils,  on  this  heavy 
day  of  early  autumn,  seven  men  were  sitting.  It 
was  an  odd  chance,  and  the  men  had  joked  about  it 
heavily — there  was  one  man  for  each  devil  of  the  Inn's 
name.  Six  of  these  men  were  grouped  about  a  table 
furnished  with  flagons  and  beakers,  and  were  doing 
their  best  to  alleviate  the  external  heat  by  copious 
draughts  of  the  rough  but  not  unkindly  native  wine 
which  Martine,  the  plain-faced  maid  of  the  Inn,  dis- 
pensed generously  enough  from  a  ruddy  earthenware 
pitcher.  A  stranger  entering  the  room  would,  at  the 
first  glance,  have  taken  the  six  men  seated  around  the 
table  for  soldiers,  for  all  were  stalwart  fellows,  with 
broad  bodies  and  long  limbs,  bronzed  faces  and  swag- 
gering carriage,  and  behind  them  where  they  sat  six 
great  rapiers  dangled  from  nails  in  the  wall,  rapiers 
which  the  revellers  had  removed  from  their  sides  for 
their  greater  ease  and  comfort.  But  if  the  suppositi- 
tious stranger  were  led  to  study  the  men  a  little  more 
closely,  he  would  be  tempted  to  correct  his  first  im- 
pression. The  swaggering  carriage  of  the  men  lacked 
something  of  the  stiffness  inevitably  to  be  associated 
with  military  training  in  the  days  when  the  levies 

2 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  the  Sun-King  were  held,  or  at  least  held  themselves 
to  be,  the  finest  troops  in  Europe,  a  cheerful  opinion 
which  no  amount  of  military  misfortune  could  dissi- 
pate. 

Each  of  the  drinkers  of  the  inn  had  his  own  in- 
dividuality of  swagger,  his  truculent  independence  of 
mien,  which  suggested  a  man  by  no  means  habitu- 
ally used  either  to  receive  commands  or  to  render 
unquestioning  obedience.  Each  of  the  men  resem- 
bled his  fellows  in  a  certain  flamboyant  air  of  ferocity, 
but  no  one  of  them  resembled  the  others  by  wearing 
that  air  of  harmonious  training  with  other  men  which 
links  together  a  company  of  seasoned  soldiers.  With 
their  long  cloaks  and  their  large  hats  and  their  high 
boots,  with  their  somewhat  shabby  garments  stained 
with  age  and  sweat  and  wine,  in  many  places  patched 
and  in  many  places  tattered,  with  their  tangled  locks 
and  ragged  mustachios,  the  revellers  had  on  closer 
study  more  the  appearance  of  brigands,  or  at  least 
of  guerillas,  than  of  regular  troops.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  were  neither  soldiers  nor  brigands,  though 
their  way  of  life  endowed  them  with  some  of  the 
virtues  of  the  soldier  and  most  of  the  vices  of  the 
brigand. 

There  was  not  a  man  in  that  room  who  lacked 
courage  of  the  fiercest  kind ;  there  was  but  one  man 
in  the  room  with  intelligence  enough  to  appreciate 
the  possibility  of  an  existence  uncoupled  with  the 
possession  of  courage  of  the  fiercest  kind.  There 
was  not  a  man  in  the  room  who  had  the  slightest  fear 

3 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  death,  save  in  so  far  as  death  meant  the  cessation 
of  those  privileges  of  eating  grossly,  drinking  grossly, 
and  loving  grossly,  which  every  man  of  the  jack- 
rascals  prized  not  a  little.  There  was  not  a  man  in 
the  room  that  was  not  prepared  to  serve  the  person, 
whoever  he  might  be.  who  had  bought  his  sword  to 
strike  and  his  body  to  be  stricken,  so  long  as  the 
buyer  and  the  bought  had  agreed  upon  the  price,  and 
so  long  as  the  man  who  carried  the  sword  felt  con- 
fident that  the  man  who  dandled  the  purse  meant 
to  meet  his  bargain. 

These  were  the  soldierly  virtues.  But,  further, 
there  was  not  a  man  in  the  room  who  would  have 
felt  the  smallest  compunction  in  cutting  any  man's 
throat  if  he  had  full  pockets,  or  shaming  any  wom- 
an's honor  if  she  had  good  looks.  These  were  their 
brigand's  vices.  Fearless  in  their  conduct,  filthy 
in  their  lives,  the  assembled  rogues  were  as  ugly  a 
bunch  of  brutalities  as  ever  sprawled  in  a  brothel, 
brawled  in  a  tavern,  or  crawled  from  some  dark  cor- 
ner to  cut  down  their  unsuspicious  prey. 

The  six  fellows  that  sat  around  the  wine-stained, 
knife-notched  table  of  the  Inn  of  the  Seven  Devils  had 
little  in  them  to  interest  a  serious  student  of  humanity, 
if  such  a  one  had  chanced,  for  his  misfortune,  to  find 
his  way  to  that  wicked  wine -house  on  that  wicked 
evening.  There  were  differences  of  nationality  among 
the  half-dozen ;  that  was  plain  enough  from  their  feat- 
ures and  from  their  speech,  for  though  they  all  talk- 
ed, or  thought  they  talked,  in  French,  each  man  did 

4 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

his  speaking  with  an  accent  that  betrayed  his  nativity. 
As  the  babbling  voices  rose  and  fell  in  alternations  of 
argument  that  was  almost  quarrel,  narrative  that  was 
sometimes  diverting,  and  ribaldry  that  was  never  wit, 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  ruffianism  of  half  Europe  had 
called  a  conference  in  that  squalid,  horrible  little  inn. 
Guttural  German  notes  mixed  whimsically  with  sibi- 
lant Spanish  and  flowing  Portuguese.  Cracked  Bis- 
cayan — which  no  Spaniard  will  allow  to  be  Spanish 
—  jarred  upon  the  suavity  of  Italian  accents,  and 
through  the  din  the  heavy  steadiness  of  a  Breton 
voice  could  be  heard  asserting  itself.  Though  every 
man  spoke  in  French,  for  the  purposes  of  the  com- 
mon parliament,  each  man  swore  in  his  own  tongue; 
and  they  all  swore  briskly  and  crisply,  with  a  seem- 
ingly inexhaustible  vocabulary  of  blasphemy  and  ob- 
scenity, so  that  the  foul  air  of  that  inn  parlor  was 
rendered  fouler  still  by  the  volley  of  oaths — German, 
Spanish,  Italian,  Portuguese,  Biscayan,  and  Breton — 
that  were  fired  into  its  steaming,  stinking  atmosphere. 
So  much  for  the  six  men  that  sat  at  the  table. 

The  seventh  man  in  the  room,  although  he  was  of 
the  same  fellowship,  was  curiously  unlike  his  fellows. 
While  the  others  were  burly,  well-set-up  fellows,  who 
held  their  heads  high  enough  and  thrust  out  their 
chests  valiantly  and  sprawled  their  strong  limbs  at 
ease,  the  seventh  man  was  a  hunchback,  short  of 
stature  and  slender  of  figure,  with  a  countenance 
whose  quiet  malignity  contrasted  decisively  with  the 
patent  brutality  of  his  comrades.  The  difference  be- 

5 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

tween  the  one  and  the  others  was  accentuated  even 
in  dress,  for,  while  the  swashbucklers  at  the  table  loved 
to  bedizen  themselves  with  an  amount  of  ferocious 
finery,  and  showed  in  their  sordid  garments  a  quan- 
tity of  color  that  likened  them  to  a  bunch  of  faded 
wild  flowers,  the  hunchback  was  clad  soberly  in  black 
that  was  well-worn,  indeed,  and  grizzled  at  the  seams, 
but  neatly  attended.  He  sat  in  the  window,  reading 
intently  in  a  little  volume,  and,  again  unlike  his 
associates,  while  he  read  he  nursed  between  his  knees 
a  long  and  formidable  rapier.  Those  at  the  table 
paid  him  no  heed;  most  of  them  knew  his  ways,  and 
he,  on  his  side,  seemed  to  be  quite  undisturbed  in  his 
studies  by  the  noise  and  clamor  of  the  drinking-party, 
and  to  be  entirely  absorbed  in  the  delights  of  literature. 
But  if  the  hunchback  student  was  quite  content 
to  let  his  companions  be,  and  to  find  his  pleasures  in 
scholarship  of  a  kind,  it  came  about  that  one  of  his 
companions,  in  a  misguided  moment,  found  himself 
less  content  to  leave  the  hunchback  student  undis- 
turbed. It  was  the  one  of  the  company  that  knew 
least  about  him — Pinto  the  Biscay  an,  newest  recruit 
in  that  huddle  of  ruffians,  and  therefore  the  less  in- 
clined than  his  fellows  to  let  a  sleeping  dog  lie.  He 
had  been  drinking  deeply,  for  your  Biscayans  are 
potent  topers,  and  in  the  course  of  his  cups  he  discov- 
ered that  it  irritated  him  to  see  that  quiet,  silent  fig- 
ure perched  there  in  the  window  with  its  wry  body  as 
still  as  if  it  had  been  snipped  out  of  cardboard,  with 
its  comical  long  nose  poked  over  a  book,  with  its  color- 

6 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

less  puckered  lips  moving,  as  if  the  reader  muttered 
to  himself  the  meaning  of  what  he  read,  and  tasted 
an  unclean  pleasure  in  so  doing.  So  Pinto  pulled  him- 
self to  his  feet,  steadied  himself  with  the  aid  of  the 
table  edge,  and  then,  with  a  noiseless  dexterity  that 
showed  the  practised  assassin,  whose  talent  it  is  to 
pad  in  shadows,  he  crossed  the  room  and  came  up  be- 
hind the  hunchback  before  the  hunchback  was,  or 
seemed  to  be,  aware  of  his  neighborhood. 

"What  are  you  reading?"  he  hiccoughed.  "Let 
us  have  a  peep  at  it."  And  before  the  hunchback 
could  make  an  answer  Pinto  had  picked  the  book 
quickly  from  the  hunchback's  fingers  and  held  it  to 
his  own  face  to  see  what  it  told  about. 

Now  it  would  have  profited  Biscayan  Pinto  very 
little  if  he  had  been  given  time  to  study  the  volume, 
at  least  so  far  as  its  text  was  concerned,  for  the  little 
book  was  a  manuscript  copy  of  the  Luxurious  Sonnets 
of  that  Pietro  Aretino  whom  men,  or  rather  some 
men,  once  called  "The  Divine."  The  book  was  illus- 
trated as  well,  not  unskilfully,  with  sketches  that 
professed  to  be  illuminative  of  the  text  in  the  man- 
ner of  Giulio  Romano.  These  might  have  pleased 
the  Biscayan,  for  if  he  had  no  Italian,  and  could, 
therefore,  make  nothing  of  the  voluptuousness  of  the 
Scourge  of  Princes,  he  could,  at  least,  see  as  well  as 
another  savage  the  meaning  of  a  lewd  image.  But 
the  privilege  was  denied  him.  Scarcely  had  he  got 
the  book  in  his  fingers  when  it  was  plucked  from  them 
again,  and  thereafter,  while  with  his  left  hand  the 

7 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

hunchback  slipped  the  booklet  into  the  breast  of  his 
doublet,  with  his  right  hand  he  dealt  Pinto  such  a 
buffet  on  the  side  of  his  head  as  sent  him  reeling 
across  the  floor,  to  bring  up  with  a  dull  thud  at  the 
table  against  the  backs  of  his  nearest  companions. 

Instantly  all  was  tumult.  Pinto,  black  with  anger, 
screamed  Biscayan  maledictions  and  struggled  to  get 
at  his  sword  where  it  hung  against  the  wall,  while  his 
comrades,  clinging  to  him  and  impeding  him,  were 
trying  in  every  variety  of  bad  French  to  dissuade  him 
from  a  purpose  which  they  were  well  enough  aware 
must  needs  end  disastrously  for  him.  For  they  all 
knew,  what  the  raw  Biscayan  did  not  know,  how 
strong  was  the  arm  and  how  terrible  the  sword  of  the 
hunchback  whose  studies  Pinto  had  so  rudely  and  so 
foolishly  interrupted.  As  for  the  hunchback  himself, 
he  stood  quietly  by  his  chair,  with  his  hands  resting 
on  the  pommel  of  his  rapier,  and  a  disagreeable  smile 
twisting  new  hints  of  malignity  into  features  that  were 
malign  enough  in  repose.  Now  it  may  be  that  the 
sight  of  that  frightful  smile  had  its  effect  in  cooling 
the  hot  blood  of  the  Biscayan,  for,  indeed,  the  hunch- 
back, as  he  stood  there,  so  quietly  alert,  so  demonia- 
cally watchful,  seemed  the  most  terrible  antagonist 
he  had  ever  challenged.  At  least,  in  a  little  while  the 
Biscayan,  drinking  in  swiftly  the  warnings  of  his  com- 
panions, consented  to  be  pacified,  consented  even  to 
be  apologetic  on  a  whispered  hint,  that  was  also  a 
whispered  threat,  from  his  leader,  that  there  should 
be  no  brawling  among  friends. 

8 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"It  was  only  a  joke,  comrade,"  he  said,  sullenly, 
and  flung  himself  heavily  into  his  empty  seat.  The 
hunchback  nodded  grimly. 

"I  like  a  joke  as  well  as  any  man,"  he  said,  "and 
can  make  one  myself  if  occasion  serve." 

Therewith  he  seated  himself  anew,  and,  pulling  the 
book  from  his  bosom,  resumed  his  reading  and  his 
silent  mouthing,  while  something  of  a  gloom  brooded 
over  his  fellows  at  the  table.  It  was  to  dissipate  this 
gloom  that  presently  the  man  who  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  a  bald  and  red-faced  fellow  who  looked 
a  German,  and  who  seemed  to  exercise  some  kind  of 
headship  over  the  others,  pushed  back  his  chair  a 
little  from  the  board  and  glanced  half  anxiously  and 
half  angrily  towards  the  inn  door.  Then  he  thumped 
his  red  fist  upon  the  wood  till  the  flagons  clattered  and 
rattled. 

"Why  don't  the  late  dogs  come  to  heel?"  he  grum- 
bled, speaking  with  a  strong  Teutonic  accent.  "It  is 
long  past  the  hour,  and  I  like  punctuality." 

A  Spaniard  at  his  right  hand,  swarthy,  not  ill- 
looking,  whom  his  friends  called  Pepe  el  Matador, 
grinned  into  the  German's  face. 

"Will  not  this  string  of  swords  serve  the  turn?" 
he  said,  and  pointed  with  a  dirty,  well-shaped  hand 
to  the  six  long  rapiers  that  hung  against  the  wall  be- 
hind them. 

The  Italian,  Faenza,  began  to  laugh  a  little,  quiet, 
teasing  laugh;  the  sullen  Biscayan,  Pinto,  patted  el 
Matador  on  the  back;  Joel  de  Jurgan  the  Breton, 

9 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

stared  stolidly;  and  Saldagno  the  Portuguese,  re- 
freshed himself  with  a  drink.  Encouraged  by  what 
he  conceived  to  be  the  sympathy  of  his  comrades, 
Pepe  renewed  the  attack.  "Come,  Staupitz,  come," 
he  questioned,  "are  not  those  swords  long  enough 
and  sharp  enough  to  scare  the  devil?" 

Staupitz  struck  the  table  again.  "No,  no,  my  chil- 
dren," he  said,  "not  for  this  job.  Monsieur  Peyrolles 
told  me  to  bring  nine  of  my  babies,  and  nine  we  must 
be,  and  nine  we  should  be  at  this  moment  if  our 
truants  were  at  hand." 

At  this  moment  Saldagno  set  down  his  beaker.  "I 
hear  footsteps,"  he  said.  In  the  momentary  silence 
which  followed  this  remark,  all  present  could  hear 
distinctly  enough  the  tramp  of  feet  outside,  and  in 
another  instant  the  door  was  flung  open  and  the  two 
men  whom  Staupitz  had  been  expecting  so  impatient- 
ly made  their  appearance. 

If  the  contrast  had  been  marked  between  the  six 
men  who  sat  at  the  table  and  the  seventh  man  who 
sat  apart,  the  contrast  that  existed  between  the  two 
new-comers  was  still  more  striking.  The  first  to  en- 
ter was  a  big,  jovial,  red-faced,  black-haired  man 
with  a  huge  mustache  and  a  manner  that  suggested 
an  ebullient  admiration  of  himself  and  an  ebullient 
appreciation  of  all  possible  pleasures.  He  was  habited 
much  like  his  predecessors,  in  that  he  was  booted, 
cloaked,  hatted,  and  sworded  as  they  were  booted, 
cloaked,  hatted,  and  sworded,  but  everything  with 
him,  owing,  it  may  be,  to  his  flagrant  Gascon  national- 

10 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

ity,  tended  to  an  extravagance  of  exaggeration  that 
made  him  seem  almost  like  a  caricature  of  the  others. 
His  hat  was  bigger,  his  cloak  more  voluminous,  his 
boots  more  assertive,  his  sword  longer,  his  taste  for 
colors  at  once  more  pronounced  and  more  gaudy.  If 
the  others  might  be  likened  in  their  coloring  to  faded 
wild  flowers,  this  man  seemed  to  blaze  like  some 
monstrous  exotic.  He  was  a  swashbuckler  whom 
Callot  would  have  loved  to  paint. 

While  he  entered  the  room  with  his  air  of  splendid 
assurance  that  suggested  that  the  Inn  belonged  to  him, 
and  greeted  those  that  awaited  him  with  such  a  nod 
as  a  monarch  might  accord  to  his  vassals,  he  was  fol- 
lowed by  one  that  showed  in  almost  every  particular 
his  opposite.  This  one,  that  represented  an  extreme 
of  Norman  character  as  his  ally  represented  an  ex- 
treme of  Gascon  character,  this  one  that  seemed  to 
shelter  timidly  behind  the  effulgence  of  his  compan- 
ion, was  a  lean,  lanky,  pallid  fellow,  clad  wholly  in 
black  of  a  rustier  and  shabbier  kind  than  that  worn 
by  the  reader  in  the  window.  From  beneath  his 
dingy  black  felt  hat  thin  wisps  of  flaxen  hair  flowed 
ridiculously  enough  about  his  scraggy  neck.  While 
his  Gascon  comrade  entered  the  room  with  the  man- 
ner of  one  who  carries  all  before  him,  the  Norman 
seemed  to  creep,  or  rather  to  slink,  in  with  lack-lustre 
eyes  peering  apologetically  about  him  through  lowered 
pink  eyelids,  while  his  twitching  fingers  appeared  to 
protest  apologetically  for  his  intrusion  into  a  society 
so  far  above  his  deserts.  But  if  in  almost  every  par- 

ii 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

ticular  he  was  the  opposite  to  his  friend,  in  one 
particular,  however,  he  resembled  him,  for  a  long  ra- 
pier hung  from  his  side  and  slapped  against  his  lean 
calves. 

In  a  further  regard,  moreover,  the  two  new-comers, 
however  different  they  might  seem  in  build  of  body 
and  in  habit  of  apparel,  resembled  each  other  more 
closely  than  they  resembled  any  of  the  earlier  occu- 
pants of  the  Inn  room.  There  are  castes  in  rascality 
as  in  all  other  trades,  classes,  professions,  and  mys- 
teries, honorable  or  dishonorable,  and  this  latest  pair 
of  knaves  belonged  patently  to  the  more  amiable  caste 
of  ruffianism — a  higher  or  a  lower  caste,  as  you  may 
be  pleased  to  look  at  it.  In  the  bold  eyes  of  the 
gaudily  clad  Gascon,  as  in  the  uneasy  eyes  of  the 
sable-coated  Norman,  there  was  a  quality  of  candor 
which  might  be  sought  for  in  vain  among  the  rogues 
that  greeted  them.  Certainly  neither  the  Gascon  nor 
the  Norman  would  have  seemed  reassuring  figures  to 
a  timid  traveller  on  a  lonely  road,  and  yet  there  was, 
as  it  were,  a  kind  of  gentility  in  their  composition 
which  would  have  been  obvious  to  a  reader  of  men, 
and  would  have  approved  them  as,  in  their  way  and 
of  their  race,  trustworthy.  Here,  the  reader  of  men 
would  say,  are  a  brace  of  assassins  who  hold  a  sort  of 
honor  in  their  hearts,  who  would  never  skulk  in  a  cor- 
ner to  stab  an  enemy  in  the  back,  nor  wrong  a  wretch- 
ed woman  who  plainly  was  unwilling  to  be  wronged 
— a  brace  of  heroes.  And  the  reader  of  men  would 
for  once  in  a  way,  have  been  in  the  right. 

12 


II 

THE   THRUST   OP   NBVERS 

AT  the  sight  of  the  two  men,  the  ruffians  at  the 
table  set  up  a  roar  of  welcome  and  bumped  their 
mugs  lustily  upon  the  board  to  a  chorus  of  greeting, 
in  which  the  names  of  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  were 
repeated  in  a  variety  of  accents  from  German  to 
Italian,  from  Portuguese  to  Biscayan,  from  Spanish 
to  Breton,  but  in  all  cases  with  the  same  degree  of 
enthusiasm  and  admiration.  The  big,  gaudy  fellow, 
patently  pleased  by  the  tribute,  struck  a  magnificent 
attitude  and  extended  a  benedictory  hand  towards 
the  drinkers.  "Courage,  chanticleers!"  he  shouted — 
"comrades  all,"  and,  advancing  towards  the  table,  gave 
Staupitz  a  lusty  slap  on  the  back,  while  Passepoil,  fol- 
lowing nervously  behind  him,  whispered  beneath  his 
breath  and  behind  his  lifted  hand  a  timid  "Greeting, 
gentlemen,"  which  was  hardly  audible  in  the  buzz 
of  voices.  But  while  Cocardasse  was  busy  engaging 
clasps  of  the  hand  with  the  men  of  many  nationalities 
who  had  been  waiting  for  him,  the  attention  of  Pas- 
sepoil was  entirely  diverted  by  the  appearance  of 
the  Inn  maid,  Martine,  who  at  that  moment  appeared 

13 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

upon  the  scene  with  a  fresh  pitcher  of  wine  in  honor 
of  the  fresh  arrivals.  The  lean  and  pale  man  blushed 
and  sighed  as  he  saw  her.  Those  in  the  room  that 
knew  the  Norman  were  well  aware  that  love  of  woman 
was  his  weakness,  and  they  paid  no  heed  to  his  at- 
tempted philandering,  taking  it,  so  far  as  they  thought 
of  it  at  all,  as  a  matter  of  course  and  honest  Passe- 
poil's  way. 

Though  Martine  was  as  little  comely  as  need  be, 
she  was  still  a  woman,  and  a  woman  Passepoil  had 
never  seen  before,  and,  sidling  towards  her,  he  en- 
deavored to  enter  into  amicable  conversation,  which 
was  received  but  indifferently  well.  By  this  time  Co- 
cardasse  had  finished  his  greetings,  and,  drawing  back 
a  step  or  two,  surveyed  the  company  with  a  look  of 
satisfaction  not  unmingled  with  astonishment. 

"Why,  Papa  Staupitz,"  he  said,  "here  we  have 
many  friends  and  all  fine  blades.  This  is  indeed  a 
pleasure  party."  His  eyes  travelled  from  the  table 
to  the  window,  where  the  man  in  black  still  sat  and 
read  quite  unconcernedly.  Something  like  surprise 
puckered  Cocardasse's  rubicund  face.  "You  here, 
^)sop?"  he  questioned. 

The  man  whom  he  called  ^Esop  looked  up  for  a 
moment  from  his  book  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Devil  knows  why!"  he  said.  "If  they  want  me, 
they  don't  want  the  others.  If  they  want  the  others, 
they  don't  want  me." 

His  remarks  were  interrupted  by  a  slight  scuffle 
between  Passepoil  and  Martine.  Passepoil  had  so  far 

14 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

conquered  his  natural  timidity  as  to  go  to  the  length 
of  soliciting  a  kiss  from  the  Inn  maid.  She  had  suc- 
cessfully repulsed  him  with  a  slap  on  each  of  his 
cheeks,  and  had  slipped  from  the  room.  While  Passe- 
poil  was  rubbing  his  face  ruefully,  ^Esop  went  on, 
sardonically: 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  friend  Cocardasse  ?  Here 
we  are,  nine  of  us,  nine  picked  swordsmen,  and  we  are 
going  to  fight  one  man." 

Cocardasse  had  returned  to  the  table  and  filled  him- 
self a  monstrous  measure  of  wine.  He  was  thirsty,  an 
habitual  state  with  him,  and  he  eyed  the  rough  wine 
lovingly. 

"Who  is  the  giant  who  is  going  to  fight  nine 
of  us?"  he  asked  as  he  lifted  his  cup  from  the 
board. 

Passepoil,  who,  enjoying  like  his  comrade  an  abiding 
drought,  had  followed  his  example,  hoping  to  find  con- 
solation in  wine  for  the  disappointments  of  love,  also 
expressed  his  surprise. 

"Every  man  of  us  can  fight  three  men  at  a  time," 
he  whispered,  timidly,  and  he,  too,  lifted  his  glass. 

"Who  is  the  man,  anyhow?"  said  Cocardasse, 
cheerfully,  making  the  wine  swing  in  the  vessel;  and 
Staupitz  answered  him,  slowly: 

"Louis,  Duke  of  Nevers." 

The  effect  of  this  simple  speech  upon  the  new- 
comers was  exceedingly  remarkable.  Cocardasse 
seemed  suddenly  to  forget  his  thirst,  for  he  set  down 
his  untasted  mug  upon  the  table.  Passepoil  did  the 

15 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

like.     "Oh!"  said  Cocardasse,  solemnly.     "Ah!"  said 
Passepoil,  gloomily. 

For  a  few  appreciable  seconds  of  strained  excite- 
ment to  those  that  watched  them  the  pair  remained 
rigid,  staring  at  their  rejected  wine-cups,  as  if  the 
liquor  they  contained  had  some  monstrous  Medusa- 
like  property  of  stiffening  into  stone  all  those  that 
presumed  to  drink  of  it.  Then  the  Gascon,  slowly 
turning  his  head,  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  Norman; 
and  the  Norman,  slowly  turning  his  head,  gazed 
steadfastly  at  the  Gascon,  and  then  the  pair,  so  gaz- 
ing, both  wagged  their  polls  very  solemnly  indeed,  and 
puckered  their  eyebrows  and  betrayed  many  other 
very  visible  signs  of  dissatisfaction,  not  to  say  of  dis- 
comfort. Then  Cocardasse  muttered  to  his  comrade 
the  words  "Louis  de  Nevers,"  as  if  they  were  not  at 
all  to  his  liking,  and  Passepoil,  in  his  turn,  repeated  the 
words,  as  if  they  were  not  at  all  to  his  liking,  and 
then  they  both  sighed  and  grunted  and  were  silent. 

The  look  of  stupefaction,  not  to  say  consternation, 
on  the  faces  of  the  new  arrivals  was  patent  to  every 
man  in  the  room — most  patent  and  most  unpalatable 
to  the  leader  of  the  gang.  Staupitz  thrust  his  red, 
Teutonic  face  forward  with  a  mocking  look  and  a 
mocking  voice  as  he  grunted:  "Seems  to  me  you 
don't  relish  the  job.'1 

Cocardasse  nodded  at  him  with  perfect  affability, 
and  patted  his  shoulder  with  a  massive,  red  hand. 
"Papa  Staupitz,"  he  said,  good-humoredly,  "you 
read  me  like  a  book." 

16 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"In  the  largest  print,"  added  Passepoil,  who  gen- 
erally supplemented  any  remark  of  his  comrade  with 
some  approving  comment  of  his  own. 

Staupitz  swung  round  in  his  chair,  upsetting  a  tank- 
ard in  his  angry  movement,  as  he  glared,  all  rage,  at 
the  strangely  assorted  pair.  "Are  you  afraid?"  he 
asked,  with  guttural  contempt. 

Cocardasse  grinned  and  showed  his  large,  dog-like 
teeth.  "I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  Papa  Staupitz,"  he 
said,  quite  cheerfully,  "nor  of  any  man  in  this  room, 
nor  of  all  the  men  in  this  room." 

Passepoil  added,  stammering  in  his  speech,  blink- 
ing his  pink  eyelids  rapidly:  "If  any  gentleman 
doubts  the  point,  there  is  a  pleasant  bit  of  kitchen 
garden  outside  where  we  can  adjourn  and  argue  the 
matter  pleasantly  together,  as  gentlemen  should." 

Nobody  present  seemed  inclined  to  pick  a  quarrel 
either  with  the  ebullient  Gascon  or  the  hesitating  Nor- 
man. The  six  bullies  at  the  table  knew  well  enough, 
and  savage,  masterful  ^sop  at  the  window  knew  well 
enough,  that  the  swaggering  Gascon  was  the  first 
fencing-master  in  Paris,  and  that  his  colleague,  the 
Norman,  for  all  his  air  of  ineffable  timidity,  was  only 
second  to  him  in  skill  with  the  weapon  and  readiness 
to  use  it.  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then 
Cocardasse  observed:  "I'm  afraid  of  just  two  men  in 
the  world." 

"The  same  with  me,"  added  Passepoil,  humbly. 

Cocardasse  resumed  his  interrupted  speech:  "And 
one  of  them  is  Louis  de  Nevers." 

17 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Staupitz's  puzzled,  angry  face  travelled  round  the 
room,  ranging  over  the  Gascon,  the  Norman,  the 
Spaniard,  the  Portuguese,  the  Biscayan,  the  Breton, 
and  the  hunchback.  "Thunder  and  weather!"  he 
cried;  "is  not  nine  to  one  good  enough  odds  for 
you?" 

The  others,  with  the  exception  of  ^Esop,  who  still 
seemed  to  read  as  peacefully  in  his  book  as  if  he  were 
alone  in  the  room,  appeared  inclined  to  applaud  the 
question  of  their  chief,  but  Cocardasse  was  not  in  the 
least  impressed  by  the  retort.  He  replied  to  Stau- 
pitz's query  with  another — "Have  you  never  heard  of 
the  secret  thrust  of  Nevers?" 

A  new  silence  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  company, 
and  for  the  second  time  since  the  Gascon  and  the  Nor- 
man had  entered  the  room  the  hunchback  took  a 
part  in  the  conversation,  closing  his  book  as  he  did 
so,  but  carefully  keeping  a  finger  between  the  pages  to 
mark  the  place.  "I  don't  believe  in  secret  thrusts," 
he  said,  decisively. 

The  Gascon  moved  a  little  away  from  Staupitz  and 
a  little  nearer  to  ^Esop,  whom  he  looked  at  fixedly. 
The  hunchback  sustained  his  gaze  with  his  habitual 
air  of  cold  indifference.  Cocardasse  spoke:  "You 
will,  if  you  ever  face  Louis  de  Nevers.  Now,  Passe- 
poil,  here,  and  I,  we  are,  I  believe,  held  in  general  re- 
pute as  pretty  good  swordsmen — " 

Passepoil  interrupted,  stuttering  furiously  in  his 
excitement:  "But  he  touched  us  with  that  secret 
thrust  in  our  own  school  in  Paris — " 

18 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Cocardasse  completed  his  friend's  statement:  "Three 
times,  here  on  the  forehead,  just  between  the  eyes." 

Passepoil  labored  his  point:  "Devil  take  us  if  we 
could  find  a  parry  for  it." 

Cocardasse  summed  up  his  argument,  gloomily: 
"They  say  it  has  never  been  parried,  never  will  be 
parried." 

Again  an  awkward  silence  reigned.  With  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders,  ^Esop  resumed  his  studies,  finding 
Aretino  more  diverting  than  such  nonsense.  Breton 
stared  at  Teuton;  Italian  interrogated  Spaniard; 
Portuguese  questioned  Biscayan.  The  affairs  of  the 
party  seemed  to  be  at  a  dead-lock.  The  fact  was  that 
Staupitz  and  his  little  band  of  babies,  as  he  was 
pleased  to  call  them,  were  not  really  of  the  same 
social  standing  in  the  world  of  cutthroats  as  Gascon 
Cocardasse  and  Norman  Passepoil.  Cocardasse  and 
his  companion  were  recognized  fencing  -  masters  in 
Paris,  well  esteemed,  if  not  of  the  highest  note, 
whereas  Staupitz  was  no  better  than  an  ordinary 
bully-broker,  and  his  so-styled  children  no  more  than 
provincial  rascallions.  It  was  not  for  them,  and  they 
knew  it,  to  display  such  knowledge  of  the  great  world 
as  might  be  aired  by  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil,  and 
when  Cocardasse  spoke  with  so  much  significance 
about  the  thrust  of  Nevers,  and  questioned  them  with 
so  much  insistence  about  the  thrust  of  Nevers,  it  was 
plain  that  he  spoke  from  the  brimmings  of  a  wisdom 
richer  than  their  own.  Staupitz,  who  was  in  some 
sense  a  son  of  Paris,  if  only  an  adopted  son,  and  that, 

19 


THE   DUKE'S  MOTTO 

indeed,  by  process  of  self -adoption,  knew  enough  of 
Olympian  matters  to  be  aware  that  there  was  an 
illustrious  gentleman  that  was  Duke  of  Nevers,  whom 
he  was  equally  willing  to  aid  with  his  sword  or  slay 
with  his  sword,  if  occasion  served.  Now  occasion 
seemed  to  demand  that  Staupitz  should  follow  the 
latter  course.  He  was  employed  to  kill  somebody, 
and  JEsop  had  assured  him  that  this  somebody  was 
Louis,  Duke  de  Nevers.  Staupitz  had  not  cared 
who  it  was;  it  was  all  one  to  him,  but  honestly  he 
was  troubled  now  by  the  patent  trouble  of  Cocar- 
dasse  and  his  ominous  mutterings  about  the  thrust 
of  Nevers. 

Passepoil  broke  the  silence,  surveying  the  puzzled 
faces  around  him.  "No  wonder  there's  such  a  crowd 
of  us."  And  for  the  first  time  there  was  something 
like  the  sound  of  audacity  in  his  voice  and  a  glance 
of  audacity  on  his  visage. 

"Faith,"  said  Cocardasse,  emphatically,  "I'd  rath- 
er face  an  army  than  face  Louis  de  Nevers." 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
sword  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss  for  conversation.  Again 
Passepoil  broke  the  silence,  this  time  with  a  question: 
"Why  are  we  after  Louis  de  Nevers?" 

Nobody  seemed  to  be  able  to  answer  him.  Even 
Staupitz,  who  was  responsible  to  the  others  for  this 
gathering  of  the  company,  was  baffled.  He  had  been 
told  to  supply  nine  swords,  and  he  had  supplied  them. 
He  had  been  told  by  his  employer  the  purpose  for 
which  the  nine  swords  were  wanted — he  had  been 

20 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

told  by  ^Esop  against  whom  those  nine  swords  were  to 
be  drawn — and  that  was  the  extent  of  his  knowledge. 
This  time  the  hunchback,  in  his  favorite  character  of 
know-all,  took  the  lead.  He  put  his  book  in  his 
pocket,  as  if  he  perceived  that  further  study  was  to 
be  denied  him  that  afternoon,  with  so  much  noise  and 
bustle  of  curiosity  about  him,  and  rose  from  his  chair. 
Holding  his  long  rapier  behind  his  back  with  both 
his  hands,  he  advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 
where  he  proceeded  to  harangue  his  fellow-guards- 
men. 

"I  can  tell  you,"  he  said,  harshly,  "if  you  would 
care  to  hear  the  story." 

Now  bravos,  swashbucklers,  spadassins,  and  such 
soldiers  of  fortune  are  like  children  in  this  regard — 
as  indeed  in  many  another — that  they  love  a  good 
yarn  well  spun.  If  something  in  the  dominating, 
masterful  manner  of  ^Esop  compelled  their  attention, 
something  also  in  the  malicious  smile  that  twitched 
his  lips  seemed  to  promise  plenitude  of  entertain- 
ment. A  grave  quiet  settled  upon  the  ragamuffins, 
their  sunburned  faces  were  turned  eagerly  towards 
the  hunchback,  their  wild  eyes  studied  his  mocking 
face;  they  waited  in  patience  upon  his  pleasure. 
Pleased  with  the  humility  of  his  audience,  ^Esop  be- 
gan his  narrative. 

"There  are,"  he  said,  "now  living  three  noble  gen- 
tlemen in  the  first  flush  of  youth,  in  the  first  flight 
of  greatness,  young,  handsome,  brilliant,  more  like 
brothers  than  friends.  They  are  known  in  the  noble 

21 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

world  of  the  court  as  the  three  Louis,  because  by  a 
curious  chance  each  of  these  splendid  gentlemen  car- 
ries Louis  for  a  Christian  name.  Humorists  have  been 
known  to  speak  of  them  as  the  three  Louis  d'or.  The 
first  is  none  other  than  our  good  king's  person,  Louis 
of  Bourbon,  thirteenth  monarch  of  his  name;  the 
second  is  Louis,  Duke  of  Nevers;  the  third  is  his 
cousin,  Louis  of  Mantua,  Prince  of  Gonzague." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  with  the  satis- 
faction of  a  tale-teller  at  the  expectant  faces  before 
him,  and  as  he  paused  an  approving  murmur  from 
his  audience  urged  him  to  continue.  ^Esop  resumed 
his  narration. 

"You  will  ask  how  the  Italianate  Mantuan  comes 
to  be  a  cousin  of  our  French  Nevers,  and  I  will  tell 
you.  Nevers's  father,  Louis  de  Nevers,  the  twelfth 
duke,  had  a  very  beautiful  sister,  who  was  foolish 
enough,  or  wise  enough,  as  you  may  choose  to  take 
it,  to  fall  in  love  with  a  needy  Italian  nobleman  that 
came  adventuring  to  Paris  in  the  hope  of  making  a 
rich  marriage.  He  made  a  rich  marriage,  or  perhaps  it 
would  be  more  accurate  to  say  that  he  thought  he  made 
a  rich  marriage.  He  married  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers. ' ' 

Again  vEsop  halted,  employing  one  of  the  familiar 
devices  of  rhetoricians,  who  lure  their  hearers  to  keen- 
er interest  by  such  judicious  pauses  in  the  course  of 
their  exposition.  The  listening  ruffians  were  as  at- 
tentive as  babes  at  a  day-school,  and  -^Esop,  with  a 
hideous  distortion  of  his  features,  which  he  intended 
for  a  pleased  smile,  went  on  with  his  story: 

22 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"Mademoiselle  de  Nevers  had  some  fortune  of  her 
own,  of  course,  but  it  was  not  large;  it  was  not  the 
feast  for  which  the  amative  Mantuan  had  hungered. 
The  Nevers's  fortune  was  in  the  duke's  hands,  and  re- 
mained in  the  duke's  hands,  for  the  duke  married  at 
much  the  same  time  as  his  sister;  and  the  duke's  wife 
and  Gonzague's  wife  were  brought  to  bed  much  about 
the  same  time,  and  each  bore  a  son,  and  each  son  was 
named  Louis  after  the  twelfth  duke,  out  of  the  affec- 
tion his  wife  bore  him,  out  of  the  affection  his  sister 
bore  him,  and  out  of  the  affection  that  sister's  Man- 
tuan husband  pretended,  in  his  sly  Italian  manner, 
to  bear  him." 

A  belated  patriotism  stirring  vaguely  in  Faenza's 
muddled  mind  tempted  him  to  resent  the  hunch- 
back's slights  upon  the  land  which  had  been  unlucky 
enough  to  mother  him. 

"All  men  of  Italy  are  not  knaves,"  he  growled, 
huskily,  and,  half  rising  from  his  seat  with  crimsoned 
visage,  he  was  busying  himself  to  say  more,  when 
Staupitz,  who  was  as  interested  as  the  others  in  Mas- 
ter JSsop's  scandalous  chronicle,  clapped  one  bear's 
paw  on  Faenza's  shoulder  and  another  bear's  paw 
across  Faenza's  mouth,  and  thus  forced  him  at  once, 
by  sheer  effort  of  brute  strength,  to  a  sitting  posture 
and  to  silence.  This  action  on  the  part  of  the  man 
whom  for  the  time  being  he  had  consented  to  accept 
as  his  general,  combined  with  the  cold  glance  of 
cruelty  and  scorn  which  JEsop  gave  him,  served  to 
cool  Faenza's  hot  blood.  He  heard  ^Esop  say,  dryly, 

23 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Some  men  of  Italy  are  fools,"  and  might  perchance 
have  flamed  again,  to  his  misluck,  but  that  Staupitz, 
breathing  thickly  in  his  ear,  whispered:  "Idiot,  he 
mocks  a  Mantuan.  Are  not  you  Naples  born  and 
bred?"  Faenza,  recovering  his  composure,  resolved 
himself  swiftly  from  an  Italian  in  general  to  a  Nea- 
politan in  particular,  with  a  clannish  antagonism  to 
alien  states.  He  spat  upon  the  floor.  "Damn  all 
Mantuans!"  he  muttered,  and  did  no  more  to  inter- 
rupt the  flow  of  -^Esop's  discourse. 

"As  I  was  saying,  this  princeling  of  Gonzague  af- 
fected a  great  show  of  friendship  for  his  ducal  brother 
of  Nevers,  and  this  same  friendship  he  left — it  was, 
indeed,  wellnigh  all  he  had  to  leave — to  his  only  son 
and  only  child,  the  present  prince  of  Gonzague." 

He  made  a  momentary  halt,  as  if  he  were  observing 
curiously  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  his  hearers, 
then  resumed: 

"The  young  Louis de  Gonzague  and  the  young  Louis 
de  Nevers  were  almost  of  an  age.  Each  was  an  only 
child,  each  was  an  only  son,  each  was  clever,  each 
was  courageous,  each  was  comely,  each  was  the 
chosen  heart's  friend  of  a  namesake  king,  each  was 
much  a  lover  of  ladies,  each  was  much  loved  by 
ladies." 

JEsop  grinned  hideously  as  he  said  these  words, 
and  his  left  hand  fumbled  lovingly  at  the  little  vol- 
ume that  lay  hid  in  the  breast  of  his  doublet,  but  he 
did  not  delay  the  flow  of  his  words. 

"The  chief  difference  between  the  two  young  men 
24 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

who  were  bound  so  closely  by  ties  of  blood  and  yet 
more  closely  by  ties  of  personal  affection  was  that 
while  Louis  de  Nevers  was  the  heir  to  all  the  treasures 
of  his  house,  Louis  of  Gonzague  was  heir  to  little  more 
than  a  rotting  palace  and  a  hollow  title.  And  yet,  by 
the  irony  of  nature  that  seemed  to  deny  long  life  to 
any  of  the  stock  of  Nevers,  Louis  de  Gonzague  was 
the  next  of  kin  to  his  cousin,  and  the  heir  to  all 
his  wealth  if  by  any  ill  chance  the  dear  young  duke 
should  die  unmarried." 

Here  ^Isop  deliberately  shut  his  mouth  for  several 
seconds,  while  the  listening  bandits,  persuaded  that 
some  thrilling  news  was  toward,  nudged  each  other 
with  their  elbows  and  riddled  the  watchful  hunch- 
back with  imploring  glances  that  entreated  him  to 
proceed.  Thus  mutely  importuned,  ^Esop  opened  his 
mouth  again: 

"But  the  difference  in  the  youths'  fortunes  never 
made  any  difference  in  their  friendship.  The  purse 
of  the  rich  Nevers  was  always  open  to  the  fingers  of 
the  poor  Gonzague,  and  the  poor  Gonzague  had  al- 
ways too  true  an  appreciation  of  the  meaning  of 
friendship  to  deny  his  heart's  brother  the  privilege 
of  ministering  to  his  needs.  And  as  the  young  Nevers 
did  not  hint  at  the  slightest  inclination  to  marry 
and  settle  down,  but  always  declared  himself  and  ap- 
proved himself  the  most  vagrant  of  lovers  and  the 
most  frivolous  of  libertines,  there  seemed  no  reason 
for  the  good  Gonzague  to  be  uneasy  as  to  his  pos- 
sible heritage.  Moreover,  the  young  Duke  of  Nevers 

25 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

was  something  delicate  of  constitution,  as  it  would 
seem,  for  all  his  skill  as  a  soldier  and  swordsman  and 
his  fame  as  a  lady's  man.  Once  when  he  was  the 
guest  of  his  cousin  of  Gonzague  in  Mantua  he  fell  ill 
of  a  strange  fever  that  came  near  to  ending  his  days, 
and  was  only  saved  by  his  French  physician,  who 
tended  him  day  and  night  and  took  him  back  to 
France  in  the  first  dawn  of  his  convalescence." 

^Esop  stopped  and  blinked  at  his  hearers  viciously, 
looking  like  some  schoolmaster  that  wonders  how 
much  or  how  little  of  what  he  has  been  saying  his 
pupils  have  understood.  Cocardasse  was  the  first 
to  show  intelligence  and  to  give  it  tongue. 

"I'll  wager,"  he  cried,  and  swore  a  great  Gascon 
oath,  "that  I  can  hazard  a  pretty  guess  as  to  the 
name  of  our  employer  in  to-night's  work." 

^Esop  leered  at  him  with  a  pitying  benignity. 

"You  were  always  a  great  brain  for  deduction, 
friend  Cocardasse,"  he  said.  "And  who  should  you 
say  was  the  honest  gentleman  who  wanted  our  swords 
for  this  present  business?" 

"Why,"  answered  Cocardasse,  shaking  his  head 
gloomily,  "though  I  hate  to  think  it,  and  hate  to 
say  it,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  man  who  has  most 
to  gain  from  this  little  meeting  and  its  inevitable  re- 
sult is  none  other  than  the  third  Louis,  your  Italian 
of  Gonzague." 

^Esop  nodded,  and  a  ferocious  smile  illuminated 
his  evil  face. 

"You  have  come  to  a  very  creditable  conclusion, 
26 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

friend  Cocardasse.  It  looks  very  much  as  if  Jona- 
than wanted  to  kill  David,  as  if  Patroclus  yearned  to 
slaughter  Achilles,  as  if  Pythias  wanted  to  extinguish 
Damon." 

Master  ^Esop  prided  himself  upon  his  scholarship 
and  his  felicity  in  classical  allusion — a  felicity  wholly 
wasted  upon  his  present  audience. 

Cocardasse  was  still  curious.  "Why  does  Louis  de 
Gonzague  want  to  kill  his  friend,  Louis  of  Nevers, 
just  at  this  particular  moment,  and  why  here  in  this 
heaven  -  forgotten  hole  of  a  place,  in  this  heaven- 
forgotten  corner  of  the  world?" 

^Jsop  explained:  "Because  Louis  de  Gonzague, 
having  tried  once,  with  good  reason,  and  failed,  tries 
again  with  better  reason  and  means  to  succeed  this 
time,  believing  much  steel  to  do  better  than  a  little 
poison.  Because,  in  a  few  words,  Louis  de  Gonzague 
wants  to  marry  the  beautiful  Gabrielle,  daughter  of 
old  Caylus  of  the  castle  there,  who  is  wealthy,  too." 

Passepoil,  who  was  always  interested  in  affairs  of 
the  heart,  put  in  his  word.  "Why  doesn't  he  marry 
her?" 

^Esop  was  ready  to  explain  that  matter  also:  "Be- 
cause Gabrielle  de  Caylus  is  already  secretly  married 
to  Louis  de  Nevers.  They  were  married  one  year  ago 
in  the  chapel  of  Caylus,  and  the  only  witnesses  were 
Louis  de  Gonzague  and  his  factotum,  Monsieur  Pey- 
rolles,  who  has  summoned  us  to  this  tryst." 

"Why  were  they  secretly  married  ?"  asked  the  amo- 
rous Passepoil. 

27 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

answered  him:  "An  old  family  feud  be- 
tween the  houses  of  Nevers  and  Caylus.  The  mar- 
quis would  rather  kill  his  daughter  than  let  her  marry 
Louis  de  Nevers.  So  they  were  wedded  secretly, 
without  his  knowledge,  and  Louis  de  Gonzague,  that 
could  deny  his  dear  friend  and  cousin,  Louis  de  Nevers, 
nothing,  helped  him  to  his  wife." 

"That  was  generous,  at  least,"  Passepoil  sighed. 

^sop  sneered.  "He  hoped,  as  he  believed  with  rea- 
son, that  there  would  be  no  issue  of  the  marriage,  and 
that  by-and-by  he  would  come  to  what  he  called  his 
own.  But  three  months  ago  a  daughter  was  born  to 
the  nuptials  of  Nevers,  and  that  is  why  we  are  here 
to-night.  Monsieur  Peyrolles  would  pretend  that  it 
is  the  old  marquis  who  is  using  us,  the  old  marquis 
who  is  suspicious  of  an  amour  between  his  daughter 
and  Nevers.  But  I  know  better." 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?"  Cocardasse  inquired. 

JEsop  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "My  good  fellow," 
he  said,  "it  is  my  business  to  know  everything  that 
is  worth  knowing  in  my  trade.  There  are  very  few 
noble  houses  in  France  that  can  hope  to  hold  any 
secrets  from  me.  You  may  take  my  word  for  it — 
that  is  how  matters  stand." 

Staupitz  and  his  five  swordsmen  sat  silent  and  puz- 
zled, leaving  the  ball  of  conversation  to  be  tossed  be- 
tween Cocardasse,  Passepoil,  and  ^sop. 

Cocardasse  spoke  next:  "An  ugly  job.  There's 
only  one  man  alive  to  match  Louis  de  Nevers." 

Something  almost  approaching  a  human  smile  dis- 
28 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 


torted  the  wrinkled  face  of  ^sop  and  made  it  appear 
more  than  usually  repulsive.  "You  mean  me,"  he 
said,  and  the  smirk  deepened,  onlTr  to  dissipate  quick- 
ly as  Cocardasse  replied: 

"Devil  a  bit.  I  mean  the  little  Parisian,  Henri  de 
Lagardere." 

"The  best  swordsman  in  Paris!"  Passepoil  cried, 
enthusiastically. 

"The  best  swordsman  in  France!"  Cocardasse 
shouted. 

Passepoil  commented  again:  "The  best  swordsman 
in  Europe." 

Cocardasse,  not  to  be  outdone,  put  the  final  touch 
to  the  picture:  "The  best  swordsman  in  the  world." 

The  name  of  Lagardere  seemed  to  make  a  marked 
impression  upon  the  company.  Every  man  seemed 
to  have  his  contribution  to  make  to  the  history  of 
the  little  Parisian. 

Faenza  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I  met  your  Lagardere  once,"  he  said,  "at  a  fen- 
cing-school in  Milan,  where  half  a  dozen  French  gen- 
tlemen met  half  a  dozen  gentlemen  of  my  nationality 
in  a  match  to  test  the  merits  of  the  French  and 
Italian  methods  of  fence.  This  Lagardere  of  yours 
was  the  only  one  whom  I  had  any  difficulty  in  over- 
coming." 

Cocardasse  gave  an  ironic  snort.  It  was  evident 
that  he  did  not  in  the  least  believe  the  latter  part 
of  Faenza  's  narrative.  Joel  de  Jurgan  took  up  the 
thread  of  reminiscence. 

29 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"If  your  Lagardere  be  the  same  as  the  man  I  am 
thinking  of,"  he  said,  "I  came  across  him  a  couple 
of  years  ago  at  the  fair  of  Neuilly.  We  had  a  passage 
of  arms,  and  I  think  I  gave  him  a  cut  on  the  head,  but 
it  took  me  some  time,  I  promise  you." 

Cocardasse  glared  at  the  speaker,  but  said  nothing, 
though  the  word  "liar"  was  plainly  expressed  in  his 
scornful  glance.  Joel,  impressed  by  his  angry  face, 
hastened  to  add,  with  the  air  of  one  that  praises  an 
adversary  in  the  handsomest  manner,  "I  swear  he 
was  the  best  fellow,  second  to  myself,  that  I  ever 
met  with  the  rapier." 

"I  have  met  him,"  grunted  Staupitz.  "He  touch- 
ed me  once  in  a  bout  of  twelve  points.  That  was  a 
triumph  for  him,  to  my  thinking." 

Pepe  added:  "He  fought  with  me  once  in  Madrid, 
and  got  off  without  a  scratch.  That  says  a  good  deal 
for  his  skill,  I'm  thinking." 

Saldagno  and  Pinto  were  silent.  They  looked  curi- 
ously at  Pepe,  but  they  nodded  their  heads  approvingly. 

Thus  each  of  the  bravos  had  his  eager  tale  to 
tell,  and  would  have  told  more  but  that  Cocardasse 
waved  them  into  silence  with  his  large  hand.  "There 
is  only  one  Lagardere,"  he  said,  and  looked  as  if  the 
subject  were  ended. 

^Esop  yawned.  "I  should  like  to  meet  your  La- 
gardere." 

Cocardasse  eyed  him  ironically.  "Sword  in  hand  ?" 
he  questioned.  "When  that  day  comes,  pray  for  your 
soul." 

3° 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  with  an  air  of 
indifference  produced  a  watch  and  consulted  its  dial. 
"Friends,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  hour  fixed  for  the 
arrival  of  Monsieur  Peyrolles,  and  I  think  I  hear 
footsteps  in  the  passage." 

Instantly  the  Gascon  seemed  animated  by  a  hur- 
ried purpose.  He  sprang  to  Staupitz's  side,  and, 
catching  him  by  the  shoulder,  shook  him  vehemently. 
"We  must  be  well  paid  to  face  the  thrust  of  Nevers. 
Let  me  bargain  for  you.  Back  me  up,  and  those  that 
are  alive  to-night  will  have  money  in  pocket  to-mor- 
row." 


Ill 

A   BUYER    OF   BLADES 

OTAUPITZ  and  his  companions  seemed  to  place 
O  implicit  confidence  in  the  superior  diplomatic 
powers  of  their  Gascon  comrade,  and  to  have  been 
seriously  impressed  by  the  gravity  of  his  statement 
concerning  the  thrust  of  Nevers,  so  death-dealing,  so 
unwardable,  so  almost  magically  fatal,  for  they  read- 
ily agreed  to  his  proposition.  Places  were  rapidly 
found  for  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  at  the  table. 
JEsop  returned  to  his  seat  and  his  little  sinful  book. 
It  was  deepening  dusk  by  now,  but  the  hunchback 
knew  his  Aretino  by  heart,  and  the  open  page  was  a 
pretence.  So  he  mused  by  the  window,  and  sat 
nursing  his  knee  moodily.  Those  at  the  table  seemed 
busy  drinking,  and  heedless  of  all  things  save  drink, 
when  the  side-door  of  the  room,  that  led  through  the 
kitchen  to  the  yard,  opened,  and  the  man  they  were 
expecting  entered.  It  was  characteristic  of  the  man 
to  make  his  appearance  so  slyly,  surreptitiously, 
sidling,  and  roundabout,  where  another  would  have 
stepped  in  direct.  At  the  heels  of  the  new-comer 
tiptoed  Martine,  swinging,  for  precaution  against  the 

32 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

thickening  dusk,  a  dingy  lantern  whose  provision  of 
fish-oil  emitted  a  pitiful  light  that  scarcely  bettered 
the  growing  blackness.  This  lantern  the  girl  set 
upon  the  head  of  an  empty  barrel  that  stood  in  a 
corner,  and  its  fitful,  shivering  rays,  faintly  illuminat- 
ing the  murkiness  around,  was  at  least  strong  enough 
to  allow  any  philosopher  among  the  bravos  —  and 
JEsop  was  in  his  way  a  philosopher — to  observe  and 
moralize  upon  the  contrast  between  the  appearance 
of  this  Monsieur  Peyrolles  who  employed  bravos  and 
and  the  bravos  that  this  Monsieur  Peyrolles  employed. 

Monsieur  Peyrolles  was  a  tall,  thin,  middle-aged 
man  of  pale  complexion.  Like  ^sop  and  like  Passe- 
poil,  he  was  dressed  in  black,  as  became  the  confi- 
dential servant  of  a  master  with  many  confidences; 
but,  unlike  the  amorous  ^Esop  and  unlike  the  amo- 
rous Passepoil — though  the  two  men  were  amorous 
after  a  very  different  fashion — his  garments  were  of 
fine  quality  and  fine  cut,  with  much  costly  lace  at  his 
yellow  neck,  and  much  costly  lace  about  the  wrists 
of  yellow  hands  that  to  a  casual  glance  might,  in 
their  affected  ease,  have  passed  for  patrician.  Like 
Passepoil,  he  carried  a  sword,  and,  like  Passepoil,  he 
knew  how  to  use  it,  although,  unlike  Passepoil,  he 
was  really  of  a  timid  disposition,  and  never  engaged 
in  any  encounter  in  which  he  was  not  certain  that  his 
skill  was  far  superior  to  that  of  his  opponent. 

He  affected  the  manners  of  a  fine  gentleman,  and 
modelled  himself  as  much  as  he  dared  upon  the  car- 
riage of  his  master,  when  his  master  was  not  by,  and, 
a  33 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

like  the  most  of  such  copying  apes,  he  overdid  the 
part.  His  face  was  curiously  unpleasant,  long  and 
yellowish  white  and  inexpressive,  with  drooping  eye- 
lids masking  pale,  shifty  eyes,  with  a  drooping,  un- 
gainly nose,  and  a  mouth  that  seemed  like  a  mistake 
of  nature. 

When  Martine  had  piaced  her  lantern  to  her  sat- 
isfaction upon  its  Bacchic  pedestal,  she  slipped  from 
the  room  as  quietly  as  she  had  entered  it,  an- 
swering as  she  went,  with  a  glance  of  disdain,  the 
passion  of  admiration  that  glowed  in  the  eyes  and 
twitched  in  the  fingers  of  Norman  Passepoil.  The 
people  that  kept  that  evil  Inn,  the  people  that  served 
that  evil  Inn,  always  left  their  sinister  customers  to 
themselves  to  kiss  or  kill,  as  best  pleased  them. 

On  the  entrance  of  Monsieur  Peyrolles  the  bravos 
rose  and  saluted  him  ceremoniously.  If  there  was 
any  hidden  mockery,  any  latent  contempt,  any  un- 
conscious hate  felt  by  the  brave  scoundrels  for  the 
cowardly  scoundrel  hi  their  reverence,  it  was  not  evi- 
dent to  the  new-comer,  who  took  the  greetings  with 
offensive  condescension,  eying  the  bandits  over  the 
lace  edges  of  his  kerchief. 

Staupitz  advanced  some  few  feet  to  greet  him. 
"Welcome,  Monsieur  Peyrolles,"  he  said.  Then, 
pointing  with  an  air  of  introduction  to  the  fantastic, 
many-colored,  huge-hatted,  big-booted  gang  of  ruf- 
fians ranged  about  the  table,  he  added,  "My  chil- 
dren." 

In  the  dim  light  Peyrolles  peered  derisively  at  the 
34 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

different  members  of  the  party.  "They  seem  a 
choice  set  of  ruffians,"  he  observed,  with  the  labored 
impertinence  that  seemed  to  him  a  copy  of  his  mas- 
ter's nonchalance. 

Staupitz  laughed  thickly.  "No  better  blades  be- 
tween here  and  world's  end."  He  pointed  first  at 
his  comrades,  as  if  to  imply  that  he  spoke  allegori- 
cally;  then  he  pointed  to  the  row  of  rapiers  dan- 
gling against  the  wall,  to  prove  that  he  also  spoke 
practically  and  by  the  card. 

"After  all,"  said  Peyrolles,  "that  is  the  important 
matter.  I  come  to  tell  you  how  to  earn  your  pay." 

By  this  time  Staupitz  and  the  others  had  resumed 
their  seats  and  were  staring  fixedly  at  Peyrolles, 
something  to  that  worthy  personage's  embarrass- 
ment. Staupitz  having  said  his  say,  dropped  into 
silence,  and  Cocardasse  leaned  forward,  asserting  him- 
self. "We  are  all  attention,"  he  declared;  and  Passe- 
poil,  faithful  echo  by  his  side,  murmured,  "We  are 
all  attention,"  and  allowed  himself  to  wonder  what 
had  become  of  Martine,  and  to  regret  that  business 
did  not  permit  him  to  go  to  look  for  her. 

Peyrolles  began  to  explain.  "Wait  in  the  moat 
to-night  at  ten  o'clock." 

Staupitz  interrupted  him.  "Ten  o'clock ?"  he  cried. 
"The  devil!  it  will  be  pretty  dark  by  ten." 

"I  think  there  should  be  a  moon  about  ten,"  vEsop 
observed,  quietly,  with  his  exasperating  air  of  all 
knowledge. 

"Yes,  yes,"  Peyrolles  went  on,  sharply,  irritated 
35 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

at  being  stayed  in  his  instructions,  "there  will  be  a 
moon,  no  doubt,  but  we  do  not  want  too  much  light 
for  this  business.  Well,  then,  wait  in  the  moat  at 
ten.  I  do  not  think  you  will  have  to  wait  long. 
Then,  or  thenabouts,  a  cavalier  coming  by  the  moun- 
tain road  will  tie  his  horse  to  a  tree  beyond  the  bridge 
that  spans  the  ravine.  He  will  cross  the  bridge  and 
walk  to  yonder  window  hard  by  the  postern." 

Peyrolles  paused  as  if  he  had  nothing  more  to  say, 
and  took  it  for  granted  that  his  hearers  understood 
his  drift.  But  one  of  them  seemed  to  desire  more 
explicit  information. 

"Then,"  said  Cocardasse — "then  we  are  to  accost 
him." 

Peyrolles  nodded.  "Very  politely — and  earn  your 
money."  He  turned  upon  his  heel  now,  for  he  rel- 
ished the  Inn  room  little,  and  its  company  less,  being 
a  fastidious  lackey,  and  made  to  go,  as  if  the  affair 
were  settled. 

But  Cocardasse  arrested  him.  "Who  is  the  gen- 
tleman we  accost  politely?"  he  asked,  very  blandly, 
but  behind  this  blandness  of  Cocardasse 's  there  was 
something  menacing  to  those  that  knew  him  well. 

Peyrolles  eyed  the  huge  Gascon  disdainfully. 
"That  does  not  concern  you,"  he  said,  sharply. 

But  the  Gascon  was  not  in  the  least  abashed,  and, 
while  he  grinned  at  the  would-be  great  man  with 
an  air  of  veiled  insolence  that  was  excessively  exas- 
perating to  Monsieur  Peyrolles,  he  questioned  again: 
"Who  is  our  employer?" 

36 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Again  Peyrolles  retorted:  "That  does  not  concern 
you." 

And  again  Cocardasse  persisted:  "It  might  con- 
cern us  very  much  if  we  chanced  to  believe  that  our 
quarry  is  Louis  de  Nevers,  and  if  we  got  it  somehow 
or  other  into  our  heads  that  our  employer  is  Louis 
de  Gonzague." 

As  Cocardasse  spoke  these  words,  Peyrolles,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed  and  irritated,  gave  Cocardasse  a 
glance  that  ought  to  have  withered  him,  but  Cocar- 
dasse was  not  withered,  and  smiled  banteringly  at 
his  employer. 

"Fellow,"  Peyrolles  said,  "you  are  inquisitive." 
As  he  spoke  he  napped  his  kerchief  reprovingly  at 
the  bravo,  whose  dilated  nostrils  greedily  drank  the 
delicate  odors  it  discharged,  and  he  again  made  as  if 
to  depart,  and  again  Cocardasse  delayed  him,  still 
with  the  same  exasperating  show  of  exuberant  polite- 
ness. 

"When  it  is  a  matter  of  our  skins,"  he  said,  "I 
think  we  have  a  right  to  be  inquisitive,  and  I  think 
we  had  better  have  a  little  chat,  Monsieur  Peyrolles." 

As  he  spoke  he  made  a  noble  flourish  of  his  right 
arm  that  was  distinctly  an  invitation  to  Peyrolles  to 
seat  himself  in  their  company,  and  Passepoil,  rising 
with  an  air  of  great  urbanity,  placed  a  stool  before 
Peyrolles. 

"Pray  be  seated,"  he  urged,  suavely,  blinking  his 
pink  eyelids  and  manifesting  a  deferential  fear  of 
the  great  man  that  he  was  very  far  indeed  from  feeling. 

37 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  looked  about  him  half  angrily,  half 
frightened.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  make  his 
escape  from  that  accursed  chamber,  but  he  had 
astuteness  enough  to  see  that  there  was  no  escape 
for  him.  Cocardasse  had  somehow  or  other  managed 
to  get  between  him  and  the  door,  and  the  other 
ruffians  seemed  to  be  entirely  in  sympathy  with  the 
Gascon's  conduct,  and  to  have  no  regard  whatever 
for  Peyrolles's  dignity  or  feelings. 

With  a  smile  that  he  intended  to  be  amiable,  Pey- 
rolles sat  down. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  one  that  swallows 
sour  wine,  "what  have  you  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"Come,"  said  the  Gascon,  "that  is  good.  Now  we 
can  chat  at  our  ease,  and  it  will  not  take  us  many 
seconds  to  understand  each  other,  I  promise  you." 
He  turned  to  Staupitz.  "What  was  the  sum  offered 
for  our  services?"  He  knew  very  well,  for  Staupitz 
had  told  him  as  they  huddled  together  before,  while 
the  hand  of  Peyrolles  was  upon  the  latch,  but  he 
thought  that  it  made  the  situation  more  impressive 
if  he  affected  ignorance. 

Staupitz  answered:  "Three  hundred  pistoles." 

Now  this  was  a  fair  market  price  enough  as  the 
tariff  went  for  ambuscades  and  assassinations  of  the 
kind.  It  meant  twenty -five  pistoles  each  to  the 
eight  subordinates  of  the  band,  and  a  comfortable 
hundred  pistoles  for  old  Papa  Staupitz  to  pocket  as 
the  patron  of  the  enterprise.  But  Cocardasse  held 
up  his  hands  in  well-affected  horror  and  amazement. 

38 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"Three  hundred  pistoles!"  he  echoed;  "for  ruddling 
the  blades  and  risking  the  lives  of  nine  of  the  finest 
swordsmen  in  Europe?  Preposterous! — there  must 
be  some  mistake!  We  won't  haggle.  We  must  have 
three  thousand  pistoles  or — good-bye." 

At  this  audacious  proposal  to  raise  their  blood- 
wages  exactly  ten  times,  the  eyes  of  the  bravos  glit- 
tered avariciously,  and  they  drummed  approval  on 
the  table  with  their  fists.  Cocardasse  deprecated 
this  display  of  interest  with  a  gentle  wave  of  the 
hand,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  eyed  Peyrolles 
coolly,  sure  that  he  plied  him  with  a  vise.  And  Co- 
cardasse was  right. 

Peyrolles  hesitated,  but  also  Peyrolles  reflected. 
It  had  been  his  wish  to  buy  his  bandits  as  cheaply  as 
he  could,  but  it  was  evident  that  they  were  better 
informed  about  the  night's  business  than  he  intended 
them  to  be.  It  was  essential  that  the  work  must  be 
done  that  night,  and  it  was  also  evident  that  the 
gentlemen  of  the  sword  were  quite  prepared  to  take 
their  leaves  if  their  terms  were  not  agreed  to.  He 
sighed  and  said,  "You  shall  have  the  money." 

Cocardasse  nodded  approvingly.  He  was  enjoying 
himself  immensely  in  this  baiting  of  the  valet  of  Gon- 
zague,  but  he  allowed  no  sign  of  entertainment  to 
ripple  over  his  crimson  countenance. 

"Good,"  he  said,  quietly,  "but  I  take  it  that  you 
have  not  got  such  a  sum  as  three  thousand  pistoles 
about  you." 

Peyrolles  shook  his  head.     "I  have  brought  with 
39 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

me  the  three  hundred  pistoles  that  were  agreed  upon," 
he  said,  sourly,  with  an  emphasis  upon  the  closing 
words  of  his  speech.  Cocardasse  caught  him  up 
promptly. 

"Agreed  upon  in  ignorance  of  the  services  de- 
manded," he  corrected.  "Well,  good  Monsieur  Pey- 
rolles,  let  us  have  that  three  hundred  pistoles  as  ear- 
nest money  for  the  larger  sum." 

Somewhat  reluctantly  Monsieur  Peyrolles  produced 
from  his  doublet  a  small  canvas  bag  and  threw  it  into 
the  hollow  of  Cocardasse 's  extended  palm.  It  chink- 
ed pleasantly  as  it  fell,  and  Cocardasse  weighed  it  ten- 
derly. 

"I  will  not  affront  your  worthiness,"  he  said,  "by 
affecting  to  doubt  the  contents  of  this  little  bag,  and 
putting  it  to  the  scrutiny  of  a  count.  I  will  take  your 
word  for  the  tale." 

As  he  spoke  he  tossed  the  bag  over  to  Staupitz, 
who  caught  it  dexterously  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
On  this  Peyrolles  made  to  rise,  and  again  found  that 
the  hand  of  Passepoil,  obedient  to  a  glance  from 
Cocardasse,  descended  upon  his  shoulder  and  nailed 
him  to  his  place. 

"Wait,"  said  Cocardasse,  amiably,  "we  must  have 
some  surety  for  the  lave  of  the  money." 

"Is  not  my  word  enough?"  Peyrolles  asked,  with 
an  ineffective  air  of  dignity.  Cocardasse  smiled  very 
sweetly. 

"The  best  of  us  may  have  a  bad  memory,"  he  said, 
and  sighed  over  the  frailties  of  humanity.  He  turned 

40 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  his  nominal  leader.  "Papa  Staupitz,"  he  said, 
"will  you  not  see  if  a  pen  and  ink  be  available?" 

Staupitz  rose  while  Peyrolles  glowered,  and  going 
to  the  door  that  led  to  the  kitchen,  summoned  Mar- 
tine.  Martine,  heedless  of  the  adoring  homage  re- 
newed in  Passepoil's  eyes,  went  to  a  cupboard  in  the 
wall  and  extracted  from  its  depths  a  dingy  ink-horn 
and  a  stubby  quill,  together  with  a  page  of  fairly 
clean  paper  torn  from  the  back  of  an  old  account- 
book.  Setting  these  on  the  table,  she  departed  as 
quietly  as  she  came,  wholly  indifferent  to  the  lan- 
guishing glances  of  the  Norman.  Cocardasse  waved 
a  space  for  Peyrolles  at  the  table. 

"Be  so  good,"  he  said,  with  a  quiet  insistence,  "as 
to  write  a  formal  promise  to  pay  Papa  Staupitz  two 
thousand  seven  hundred  pistoles  to-morrow.  Date 
it  carefully,  and  sign  it  with  your  excellent  and  hon- 
orable name,  my  dear  Monsieur  Peyrolles." 

Peyrolles  frowned,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it;  so 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  untroubled  this  time  by  the  re- 
straining fingers  of  Passepoil,  and,  going  to  the  table, 
wrote  the  demanded  document,  with  every  appear- 
ance of  repugnance  at  the  task  and  its  conditions, 
for  the  pen  was  vile,  the  ink  viler,  and  the  paper 
vilest.  When  he  had  finished,  Cocardasse  took  it 
from  him  and  scanned  it  carefully. 

"That  is  all  right,"  he  said,  and  placed  the  still 
wet  writing  on  the  table  in  front  of  Staupitz.  Pey- 
rolles made  as  if  to  move  towards  the  door,  but  again 
Passepoil,  who  was  watching  intently  the  face  of  Co- 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

cardasse,  read  a  meaning  there,  and,  pouncing  upon 
Peyrolles,  persuaded  him  firmly  back  into  the  seat 
he  had  quitted. 

"That  is  not  all,"  said  Cocardasse  to  the  astonished 
and  angry  valet.  "This  night's  work  is  a  big  night's 
work,  and  not  to  be  paid  for  over  the  counter  and 
done  with.  We  want  the  money  first,  but  after- 
wards we  want  the  protection  and  favor  of  Louis  de 
Gonzague." 

Peyrolles  frowned  and  made  a  vehement  effort  to 
assert  his  authority. 

"You  talk  very  freely  and  loosely  of  great  names," 
he  said,  with  as  much  sharpness  as  he  could  mus- 
ter in  the  presence  of  that  ring  of  rascality.  "You 
should  know  very  well,  if  you  know  anything  at  all 
about  the  scandals  of  grandees,  that  Monseigneur  the 
Marquis  of  Caylus  has  every  reason  to  dislike  Mon- 
seigneur the  Duke  of  Nevers,  and  to  wish  him  out  of 
the  way." 

Cocardasse  laid  a  whimsical  finger  to  the  side  of  his 
jolly,  tropical  nose  and  grinned  impishly. 

"We  know  what  we  know,  Monsieur  Peyrolles," 
he  said,  urbanely.  "If  it  were  merely  necessary  to 
kill  the  Duke  of  Nevers  to  gratify  the  hate  of  any 
private  enemy,  one  place  would  do  as  well  as  an- 
other, and  we  might  take  him  any  time  on  his  way 
here,  instead  of  waiting  till  the  precise  moment  when 
he  enters  the  moat  of  Caylus.  But  you  wish  us  to 
wait  for  that  precise  moment  because  you,  and  your 
master,  wish  it  to  seem  patent  to  all  the  world  that 

42 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  deed  was  done  by  the  Marquis  of  Caylus  on  his 
own  ground,  to  defend  his  own  honor.  Once  again, 
we  demand  hereafter  the  favor  and  protection  of  his 
highness  the  Prince  of  Gonzague." 

This  time  Peyrolles  needed  no  pause  for  reflection. 
So  much  was  wise  to  promise  to  men  who  could  draw 
conclusions  so  dexterously.  "You  shall  have  it,"  he 
said,  and  rose  from  his  seat,  this  time  unrestrained 
by  the  Norman's  pressure.  "There  is  my  hand  on 
it,"  he  added. 

Cocardasse  appeared  not  to  perceive  the  extended 
hand  as  he  slapped  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  "Here  is 
my  rapier,  which  answers  for  me." 

Peyrolles  smiled  sourly.  "You  had  better  place 
a  sentinel  in  the  moat,"  he  said,  addressing  Staupitz. 
"He  can  give  the  signal  when  the  mouse  walks  into 
the  trap.  Till  then  let  the  others  keep  in  the  back- 
ground so  as  to  cut  off  our  gentleman's  retreat." 

Staupitz  nodded  sulkily.  He  had  always  held 
Monsieur  Peyrolles  in  considerable  respect,  a  respect 
that  had  been  greatly  shaken  by  Cocardasse 's  au- 
dacious and  insolent  treatment  of  the  satellite  of 
Gonzague.  Now  the  bravo  seemed  ready  to  resent 
receiving  an  order  from  his  employer's  go-between. 
Peyrolles  prudently  took  no  notice  of  his  sullenness. 
"Good-evening,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  and  walked 
towards  the  door.  As  he  reached  it,  he  turned  again 
and  spoke  significantly:  "Remember  —  if  you  fail, 
no  pay." 

Cocardasse  grinned  impudently  at  him.  "Sleep  in 
43 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

peace,  Monsieur  Peyrolles."  Peyrolles  made  a  wry 
face  and  went  out. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone  the  bravos  gathered  about 
Cocardasse  and  patted  him  enthusiastically  on  the 
back.  Only  ^sop  remained  in  his  corner,  appar- 
ently indifferent  to  the  whole  proceedings. 

"Well  done,  comrade,"  cried  Passepoil,  wringing 
the  hand  of  his  brother  -  in  -  arms ;  and  the  others, 
whose  pay  had  been  so  notably  increased  by  the 
diplomacy  of  Cocardasse,  were  equally  as  effusive  in 
their  expressions  of  gratitude. 

Cocardasse  met  their  applause  with  an  impressive 
monosyllable.  "Wine,"  he  said  to  Martine,  who 
had  peeped  in  to  see  if  her  services  were  needed,  and 
in  a  twinkling  the  pannikins  were  filled  again  and 
lifted  to  eight  thirsty  mouths,  and  set  down  again 
empty  of  their  contents.  The  first  business  was 
to  share  the  contents  of  Monsieur  Peyrolles's  bag, 
which  Staupitz  duly  divided  according  to  the 
original  understanding,  giving  each  man  twenty-five 
pistoles,  and  keeping  the  remainder  for  himself.  By 
this  time  the  ink  on  the  promissory  note  was  dry, 
and  Staupitz  folded  it  up  carefully  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

After  this  for  another  half-hour  the  talk  was  all 
about  the  young  Duke  de  Nevers  and  his  secret 
thrust,  and  the  woman  he  loved,  and  the  Prince  de 
Gonzague,  his  friend,  who  meant  to  kill  him.  Here, 
as  before,  ^Esop  dominated  the  party  by  his  superior 
knowledge  of  all  the  individuals  in  the  little  tragedy 

44 


THE  DUKE'S   MOTTO 

in  which  they  were  invited  to  play  subordinate  parts. 
He  told  them  of  the  life  feud  between  the  family  of 
Caylus  and  the  family  of  Nevers,  a  feud  as  bitter 
as  that  of  the  Capulets  and  Montagues  of  old  time. 
He  told  them  of  Gonzague's  passions,  Gonzague's 
poverty.  He  told  them  all  about  Monsieur  Pey- 
rolles,  Gonzague's  discreet  and  infamous  factotum. 
He  told  them,  also,  being  as  it  seemed  a  very  gold- 
mine of  court  scandals,  much  of  the  third  Louis,  the 
august  friend  of  Louis  of  Nevers  and  Louis  of 
Gonzague,  the  third  Louis  who  was  the  king  of 
France. 

The  bravos  hung  upon  his  words.  In  many  ways 
they  were  simple  folk,  and,  like  all  simple  folk,  they 
loved  to  be  told  stories,  and  -^Esop  prided  him- 
self upon  being  something  of  a  man  of  letters,  a 
philosopher,  and  an  historian.  It  was,  therefore,  no 
small  annoyance  to  narrator  and  audience  when 
the  narrative  was  interrupted,  as  it  was  nearing  its 
conclusion,  by  the  opening  of  the  Inn  door.  Every 
face  expressed  astonishment  as  it  was  pushed  suf- 
ficiently apart  to  admit  the  entry  of  a  slender  and 
graceful  boy  in  the  rich  habit  of  a  page.  The  boy 
came  a  little  way  into  the  room,  looking  cautiously 
about  him.  He  acted  as  if  at  first  he  took  the  room 
in  its  dimness  to  be  unoccupied,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
somewhat  disconcerted  at  discovering  that  it  con- 
tained so  many  occupants.  He  stood  still  while  his 
bright  eyes  ran  rapidly,  and  indeed  fearfully,  over  the 
somewhat  alarming  features  of  the  guests.  Failing, 

45 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

apparently,  to  find  among  them  the  person,  who- 
ever it  was,  whom  he  had  come  there  to  seek,  he 
turned  to  leave  as  quietly  as  he  had  entered,  but 
his  egress  was  barred  by  ^sop,  who  had  slipped  be- 
tween him  and  the  door,  and  who  now  questioned 
him,  with  a  grin  of  malignant  intelligence  on  his 
face. 

"Whom  are  you  looking  for,  pygmy?" 

The  page  put  a  bold  face  on  it  and  answered 
with  a  bold  voice:  "I  have  a  letter  for  a  gentle- 
man." 

J&sop  pointed  to  the  group  at  the  table.  "We  are 
all  gentlemen.  Let's  have  a  look  at  your  letter." 
Then  he  added  to  his  companions:  "It  may  be  use- 
ful. The  imp  wears  the  livery  of  Nevers." 

Instantly  the  others  approved  by  signs  and  grunts 
of  ^Esop's  action,  and  the  page,  now  really  alarmed, 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  escape.  "Let  me  pass!" 
he  cried,  and  tried  to  rush  under  ^Esop's  arm.  But 
^sop  caught  the  boy  in  an  iron  grip,  and,  though  the 
courageous  page  drew  a  dagger  and  tried  to  stab  his 
assailant,  he  was  disarmed  in  a  second  and  seized 
by  the  others,  who  sprang  from  the  table  and  clustered 
about  him,  fierce  birds  of  prey  about  a  helpless  quarry. 
The  lad  cried  for  help,  hopelessly  enough.  Strong, 
dirty  fingers  were  tearing  open  his  jerkin  and  fum- 
bling for  the  concealed  letter,  when  suddenly  it  seemed 
to  the  astonished  swordsmen  that  an  earthquake  and 
a  whirlwind  had  combined  for  their  undoing.  /3£sop 
rolled  to  one  end  of  the  room,  Staupitz  to  another; 

46 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse  and  Passepoil,  Saldagno,  Pepe,  Pinto, 
Faenza,  and  Joel  were  scattered  like  sparrows,  and 
the  little  page  found  himself  liberated  and  crouching 
at  the  feet  of  a  man  who  was  standing  with  folded 
arms  surveying  the  discomfited  bravos  mockingly. 


IV 

THE    LITTLE    PARISIAN 

THE  new-comer  was  a  young  man  of  little  over 
one  -  and  -  twenty,  of  medium  height,  but  with 
a  well-built,  well-knit  figure  that  gave  a  promise 
of  extraordinary  strength  and  power  of  endurance, 
coupled  at  the  same  time  with  a  scarcely  less  extraor- 
dinary suppleness.  He  had  a  face  that  was  certainly 
handsome,  though  many  handsomer  faces  were  famil- 
iar in  Paris  at  that  day,  but  none  more  gallant,  and, 
indeed,  its  chief  charm  was  its  almost  audacious 
air  of  self-reliance,  of  unfailing  courage,  of  change- 
less composure,  and  unconquerable  humor.  The  eyes 
were  bright  and  laughing.  Even  now,  although  the 
man  was  undoubtedly  angry,  his  eyes  still  smiled  in 
unison  with  his  lips.  His  dark  hair  fell  gracefully 
about  his  shoulders.  He  wore  a  somewhat  faded 
white  coat,  girdled  with  a  crimson  sash — the  white 
coat  of  a  captain  in  the  king's  Light-Horse — and, 
though  he  carried  himself  with  an  easy  dignity,  the 
general  condition  of  his  dress  showed  he  was  one  who 
was  neither  afraid  of  nor  unfamiliar  with  poverty. 
Now  he  looked  around  him  with  a  bright  defiance, 

48 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

seemingly  diverted  by  the  havoc  his  single  pair  of 
arms  and  legs — for  he  had  used  both  limbs  in  the 
brawl — had  wrought  among  nine  swashbucklers,  and 
apparently  prepared  at  any  moment  to  repeat  the 
performance,  if  occasion  called  for  action. 

It  was  curious  to  observe  that,  though  the  new- 
comer had  worked  such  confusion  among  the  bravos 
whom  he  had  taken  so  roughly  unawares,  he  did  not 
show  any  sign  of  having  passed  through  a  scuffle 
with  a  number  of  men  or  having  accomplished  any- 
thing especially  arduous  in  bringing  them  so  swiftly 
to  discomfiture.  His  breathing  was  not  quickened, 
his  comely  young  face  was  unflushed.  As  he  stood 
there  lightly  poised  in  an  easy  attitude  that  might 
at  any  moment  be  resolved  into  an  attitude  of  de- 
fence, he  seemed,  to  such  of  his  spectators  as  had 
sufficiently  recovered  their  senses  to  look  at  him 
coolly,  rather  to  resemble  one  that  had  come  in 
on  the  heels  of  a  tuss  and  was  watching  its  result 
with  unconcerned  eyes  than  one  that  with  no  more 
assistance  than  his  own  agile  limbs  had  been  the 
cause  of  humiliation  to  so  many  powerful  adversaries. 
Staupitz,  blinking  fiercely  as  he  rubbed  his  aching 
head,  which  had  rattled  sharply  against  the  table 
that  arrested  his  flight  across  the  room,  was  too  be- 
wildered to  swear  out  the  oaths  that  were  frothing 
within  him  when  he  realized  that  the  earthquake, 
the  whirlwind,  the  cataclysm  that  had  tumbled  him 
and  his  companions  about  like  so  many  nine-pins  was 
no  other  and  no  more  than  the  slim  and  pleasant 

4  49 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

young  gentleman  who  stood  there  so  composedly. 
While  the  bewildered  ruffians  were  picking  them- 
selves up,  and  with  some  little  difficulty  recovering 
their  breath,  the  young  gentleman  addressed  them 
mockingly:  "Are  there  quite  enough  of  you  to  manage 
this  adversary?"  And  as  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the 
little  page  who  was  huddled  at  his  feet. 

^Esop  was  the  first  of  the  bravos  to  recover  his 
troubled  senses  and  to  seek  to  retaliate  upon  his 
assailant.  He  whipped  his  long  rapier  from  its 
sheath,  and  was  making  for  the  intruder  when  Co- 
cardasse  flung  his  strong  arms  around  the  hunch- 
back and  restrained  him.  "Be  easy,"  he  cried;  "it 
is  the  little  Parisian!"  And  at  the  same  moment 
Passepoil,  with  the  gesture  of  one  who  salutes  in  a 
fencing-school,  exclaimed  the  name  "Lagardere." 

As  for  the  other  ruffians,  they  gathered  together 
sulkily  enough  about  the  table,  staring  at  the  stranger. 
His  face  was  familiar  to  all  of  them,  and  there  was 
not  one  among  them  bold  enough  to  follow  the 
example  of  JE,sop.  Lagardere,  who  had  taken  no 
notice  of  the  threatened  attack  of  the  hunchback, 
surveyed  the  group,  and,  glancing  from  them,  ad- 
dressed himself  to  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil. 

"Why,  my  old  masters,"  he  asked,  drolling  them, 
"what  are  you  doing  in  this  desperate  adventure? 
You  ought  to  be  careful.  The  boy  might  have  hurt 
you."  His  eyes  turned  from  the  Gascon  and  the 
Norman  back  again  to  the  fellows  at  the  table. 
"Some  of  these  scarecrows  seem  familiar."  His 

So 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

glance  rested  on  Staupitz,  and  he  questioned  him: 
"Where  have  we  met?" 

Staupitz  saluted  Lagardere  very  respectfully  as 
he  answered:  "At  Lyons." 

Lagardere  seemed  to  search  his  memory  and  to 
find  what  he  sought.  "True.  You  touched  me  once." 

Staupitz  made  an  apologetic  gesture.  "Only  once 
in  twelve  times." 

Lagardere  turned  to  Saldagno,  Pepe,  and  Pinto. 
"Ah,  my  bandits  of  Madrid,  who  tried  me,  three  to 
one." 

Saldagno  was  more  apologetic  than  Staupitz,  with 
a  Latin  profusion  of  gesture,  as  he  explained:  "That 
was  for  a  wager,  captain." 

Lagardere  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Which  you 
did  not  win."  He  turned  to  Joel  de  Jurgan.  "Does 
your  head  still  carry  my  cut?" 

The  Breton  lifted  a  large  hand  to  his  bullet  head 
and  fumbled  through  the  thick  hair  for  a  familiar 
spot.  "There  is  a  scar,"  he  admitted. 

Lagardere  turned  to  the  Italian.  "Do  you  still," 
he  asked,  "hold  the  Italian  school  to  be  superior  to 
the  French?" 

Faenza  shook  his  head.  "Not  when  you  practise 
the  French  method,"  he  answered,  politely. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  ^)sop,  who  had 
by  this  time  been  released  from  the  embrace  of 
Cocardasse,  and  had  sheathed  his  sword,  came  for- 
ward and  faced  Lagardere.  "I  desire  acquaint- 
anceship, Captain  Lagardere.  Men  call  me 

Si 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Lagardere  gazed  at  the  hunchback,  and  a  look  of 
displeasure  banished  the  mirth  from  his  eyes.  "I 
have  heard  of  you,"  he  said,  curtly.  "A  good  sword 
and  a  bad  heart.  I  don't  like  the  blend.  You  may 
go  to  the  devil." 

He  turned  away  from  ^sop  and  bent  over  the 
lad,  who  still  crouched  at  his  feet.  "Now,  lad,  you 
must  promise  not  to  hurt  these  gentlemen,  for  some 
of  them  are  friends  of  mine." 

While  the  bravos  tried  not  to  appear  annoyed  by 
Lagardere's  banter,  which,  indeed,  in  its  simplicity 
vexed  their  simple  natures  greatly,  the  page  rose  to 
his  feet  and  whispered  softly  to  his  rescuer,  "I  have 
a  letter  for  you  from  the  Duke  de  Nevers." 

Lagardere  extended  his  hand.     "Give  it,"  he  said. 

The  page  produced  the  letter,  of  which  JEsop  had 
been  so  anxious  to  gain  possession,  and  handed  it  to 
Lagardere,  whispering  as  he  did  so,  "Save  me  from 
these  ogres.  I  carry  another  letter  to  a  lady." 

Lagardere  smiled.  "To  Gabrielle  de  Caylus,  I'll 
swear,"  he  murmured  in  a  low  voice  which  was  cal- 
culated only  to  reach  the  page's  ears.  Then  he  turned 
again  to  the  swordsmen.  "Sirs,  this  lad,  more  fas- 
tidious than  I,  dislikes  your  society.  Pray  respect 
his  prejudices."  He  pushed  the  page  gently  towards 
the  main  door.  "Hop,  skip,  jump!" 

In  a  moment  the  page  had  glided  out  of  the  room. 
^Esop  made  a  movement  as  if  he  were  inclined  to 
follow,  but  any  such  intention  was  frustrated  by 
Lagardere,  who  shut  the  door  after  the  boy  and 

52 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

stood  with  his  back  towards  it.  "Stay  where  you 
are,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  and  there  was  something 
so  persuasive  in  the  way  in  which  he  said  it  that  the 
gentlemen  stayed  where  they  were.  Then  Lagardere, 
as  if  he  had  almost  forgotten  their  presence,  slowly 
walking  down  the  room  till  he  paused  in  the  middle, 
opened  the  letter  and  began  to  read  it.  As  he  seemed 
absorbed  by  its  contents,  Staupitz  on  the  one  side 
and  ^Esop  on  the  other  came  cautiously  towards  him 
with  the  intention  of  reading  the  letter  over  his 
shoulder,  but  Lagardere's  seeming  forgetfulness  of 
their  presence  instantly  changed.  He  looked  up 
sharply,  glancing  right  and  left,  and  ^Esop  and  Stau- 
pitz fell  back  in  confusion,  while  Lagardere  spoke 
to  them,  mocking  them:  "You  will  dub  me  eccentric; 
you  will  nickname  me  whimsical;  you  will  damn  me 
for  a  finicking  stickler,  and  all  because  I  am  such  an 
old-fashioned  rascal  as  to  wish  to  keep  my  corre- 
spondence to  myself.  There,  there,  don't  be  crest- 
fallen. This  letter  makes  me  so  merry  that  you 
shall  share  its  treasure.  But,  first,  fill  and  drink 
with  me,  a  noble  toast." 

To  suggest  drinking  was  to  forge  a  link  between  the 
bravos  and  the  man  who  down-faced  them  so  mas- 
terfully. The  big  jug  seemed  to  jump  from  hand  to 
hand,  every  mug  was  full  in  a  twinkling,  and  every 
face  was  fixed  steadfastly  on  Lagardere,  waiting  for 
his  words.  Lagardere  lifted  his  brimming  beaker 
with  a  voice  of  joyous  mockery  that  carried  at  once 
defiance  and  respect  to  a  distant  man.  "The  health 

53 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  Louis  of  Nevers!"  he  said,  and  drained  his  green 
wine  as  cheerfully  as  if  it  had  been  the  elixir  of  the 
gods. 

At  his  words  blank  astonishment  spread  over  the 
faces  of  the  Gascon  and  the  Norman.  "He  said 
'Nevers,'"  Cocardasse  whispered  to  Passepoil,  and 
Passepoil  whispered  back,  "He  did."  As  for  the 
other  bravos,  they  had  been  as  much  surprised  as 
Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  by  Lagardere's  request,  but 
they  managed  to  conceal  their  surprise  by  lifting 
their  mugs,  and  now  as  they  nodded  and  winked  to 
one  another,  they  tilted  their  vessels  and  drank, 
shouting,  "The  health  of  Louis  de  Nevers!" 

Cocardasse  came  nearer  to  Lagardere,  and  said  in 
a  voice  that  was  almost  a  whisper,  "Why  do  you 
drink  the  health  of  Louis  de  Nevers?" 

Lagardere  looked  for  a  moment  annoyed  at  the 
presumption  of  Cocardasse  in  questioning  him,  then 
the  annoyance  gave  place  to  his  familiar  air  of 
tolerant  amusement.  "I  don't  love  questions,  but 
you  have  a  kind  of  right  to  query."  He  turned  to 
the  others.  "You  must  know,  sirs,  that  this  pair 
of  rapiers  were  my  fairy  godfathers  in  the  noble  art 
of  fence." 

The  Norman  looked  at  Lagardere  with  a  very  lov- 
ing expression.  "You  were  a  sad  little  rag  of  hu- 
manity when  first  you  came  to  our  fencing-academy." 

"You  are  right  there,"  said  Lagardere.  "I  was 
the  poorest,  hungriest  scrap  of  mankind  in  all  Paris. 
I  had  neither  kin  nor  friends  nor  pence,  nothing  but 

54 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

a  stout  heart  and  a  sense  of  humor.  That  is  why 
I  came  to  your  academy,  old  rogues." 

Cocardasse  was  reminiscent.  "Faith,  you  looked 
droll  enough,  with  your  pale  face  and  your  shabby 
clothes.  'I  want  to  be  a  soldier,'  says  you;  'I  want 
to  use  the  sword.'" 

Lagardere  nodded.  "That  was  my  stubborn  law. 
The  world  laughed  at  me,  but  I  laughed  at  the  world, 
and  I  won  my  wish." 

"Just  think  of  it!"  said  Cocardasse.  "Henri  de 
Lagardere,  a  gentleman  born,  without  a  decent 
relative,  without  a  decent  friend,  without  a  penny, 
making  his  livelihood  as  a  strolling  player  in  the 
booth  of  a  mountebank." 

While  Cocardasse  was  speaking,  Lagardere  seemed 
to  listen  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  He  forgot  for  the 
moment  the  reeking  Inn  room  where  he  stood,  the 
beastly  visages  that  surrounded  him,  the  whimsy 
that  had  drifted  him  thither.  All  these  things  were 
forgotten,  and  the  man  that  was  little  more  than  a 
boy  in  years  was  in  fancy  altogether  a  boy  again, 
a  shivering,  quivering  slip  of  a  boy  that  stood  on  the 
gusty  high-road  and  knuckled  his  eyelids  to  keep  his 
eyes  from  crying.  How  long  ago  it  seemed,  that 
time  twelve  years  ago  when  a  mutinous  urchin  fled 
from  a  truculent  uncle  to  seek  his  fortune  as  Heaven 
might  please  to  guide!  Heaven  guided  an  itinerant 
mime  and  mountebank  that  tramped  France  with 
his  doxy  to  a  wet  hedge-side  where  a  famished,  foot- 
sore scrap  of  a  lad  lay  like  a  tired  dog,  trying  not  to 

55 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

sob.  The  mountebank  was  curious,  the  mountebank's 
doxy  was  kind ;  both  applauded  lustily  the  boy's  re- 
solve to  march  to  Paris,  cost  what  it  might  cost,  and 
make  his  fortune  there.  The  end  of  the  curiosity  and 
the  kindness  and  the  applause  was  that  the  little 
Lagardere  found  himself  at  once  the  apprentice  and 
the  adopted  son  of  the  mountebank,  with  his  fort- 
une as  far  off  as  the  stars.  But  he  learned  many 
things,  the  little  Lagardere,  under  the  care  of  that 
same  mountebank;  all  that  the  mountebank  could 
teach  him  he  learned,  and  he  invented  for  himself 
tricks  that  were  beyond  the  mountebank's  skill. 
How  long  ago  it  seemed!  Would  ever  space  of  time 
seem  so  long  again?  So  the  young  man  mused 
swiftly,  while  Cocardasse  told  his  tale;  but  ere  Co- 
cardasse  had  finished,  Lagardare  was  back  in  the 
tavern  again,  and,  when  Cocardasse  had  finished, 
Lagardere  caught  him  up:  "Why  not?  Some  actors 
are  as  honest  as  bandits.  I  was  no  bad  mummer, 
sirs.  I  could  counterfeit  any  one  of  you  now  so 
that  your  mother  wouldn't  know  the  cheat.  And 
my  master  made  me  an  athlete,  too;  taught  me  every 
trick  of  wrestling  and  tumbling  and  juggling  with 
the  muscles.  That  is  why  I  was  able  to  tumble  you 
about  so  pleasantly  just  now.  I  should  have  been 
a  mountebank  to  this  day  but  for  an  accident." 

Passepoil    was    curious.     "What    accident?"    he 
asked. 

Lagardere  answered  him:    "A  brawl  over  a  wench 
with  a  bully.     I  challenged  him,  though  I  was  more 

56 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

at  home  with  a  toasting  -  fork  than  a  sword.  I 
caught  up  an  unfamiliar  weapon,  but  he  flicked  the 
steel  from  my  hand  at  a  pass  and  banged  me  with 
the  flat  of  his  blade.  The  girl  laughed.  The  bully 
grinned.  I  swore  to  learn  swordcraft." 

"And  you  did,"  said  Passepoil.  "In  six  months 
you  were  our  best  pupil." 

Cocardasse  continued:  "In  twelve  you  were  our 
master." 

Passepoil  questioned  again:  "What  became  of  your 
bully?" 

Lagardere  was  laconic:  "We  had  a  chat  after- 
wards. I  attended  his  funeral." 

Cocardasse  clapped  his  hands.  "Well  begun,  little 
Parisian." 

Passepoil  pointed  admiringly  at  Lagardere.  "Look 
at  you  now,  a  captain  in  the  king's  guard." 

Lagardere  laughed  cheerfully.  "Look  if  you  like, 
but  I  am  no  such  thing.  I  am  cashiered,  exiled  from 
Paris." 

"Why?"  asked  Cocardasse,  and  Lagardere  replied 
with  a  question:  "Do  you  remember  the  Baron  de 
Brissac?" 

Cocardasse  nodded.  "One  of  the  best  swords  in 
Paris." 

Lagardere  resumed:  "Well,  the  late  baron — " 

Passepoil  interrupted:  "The  late  baron?" 

Lagardere  explained:  "Brissac  had  a  lewd  tongue 
and  smirched  a  woman.  So  I  pulled  his  ears." 

Cocardasse  grinned.     "The  devil  you  did!" 
57 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Yes,"  said  Lagardere,  "they  were  very  long 
and  tempting.  We  resumed  the  argument  elsewhere. 
It  was  brief.  Good-bye,  Brissac!  But  as  the  good 
king,  thanks  to  the  good  cardinal,  now  frowns  upon 
duelling,  I  am  exiled  when  I  ought  to  be  rewarded." 

Cocardasse  sighed.  "There  is  no  encouragement 
for  virtue  nowada)rs." 

Lagardere's  voice  was  as  cheerful  as  if  there  were 
no  such  thing  in  the  world  as  exile.  "Well,  there  I 
was  at  my  wit's  end,  and  my  nimble  wits  found  work 
for  me.  'If  I  must  leave  France,'  I  said,  'I  will 
go  to  Spain,  where  the  spirit  of  chivalry  still  reigns.' 
So  I  raised  a  regiment  of  adventurers  like  myself — 
broken  gentlemen,  ruined  spendthrifts,  poor  devils 
out  at  elbow,  gallant  soldiers  of  fortune  one  and  all. 
They  wait  for  me  a  mile  from  here.  We  shall  find 
work  to  do  in  Spain  or  elsewhere.  The  world  is 
wide,  and  it  has  always  work  for  good  swords  to  do." 

Cocardasse  looked  at  him  admiringly.  "Your 
sword  will  never  rust  for  want  of  use,"  he  said,  with 
approval. 

Lagardere  answered  him,  briskly:  "Why  should 
it?  'Tis  the  best  friend  in  the  world.  What  wom- 
an's eye  ever  shone  as  brightly  as  its  blade,  what 
woman's  tongue  ever  discoursed  such  sweet  music?" 

Cocardasse  took  off  his  hat  and  swung  it.  "Hur- 
rah for  the  sword!"  he  shouted. 

Lagardere's  glance  applauded  his  enthusiasm. 
"Iron  was  God's  best  gift  to  man,  and  he  God's  good 
servant  who  hammered  it  into  shape  and  gave  it 

58 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

point  and  edge.  1  shall  never  be  happy  until  I  am 
master  of  it." 

^Esop  joined  the  conversation  mockingly.  "I 
thought  you  were  master  of  it,"  he  said,  with  an 
obvious  sneer. 

Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  looked  horrified  at  the 
hunchback's  impertinence,  but  Lagardere  did  not 
seem  to  be  vexed,  and  answered,  quite  amiably:  "So 
did  I  till  lately."  Then  he  said,  addressing  himself 
generally  to  the  company:  "Have  any  of  you  ever 
heard  of  the  thrust  of  Nevers?" 

A  tremor  of  excitement  ran  through  his  audience. 
Cocardasse  took  up  the  talk:  "We  spoke  of  it  but 
now." 

"Well,"  said  Lagardere,  "what  do  you  think  of 
it?" 

^Esop,  the  irrepressible,  thrust  in  his  opinion. 
"Never  was  secret  thrust  invented  that  cannot  be 
parried." 

Lagardere  looked  at  him  somewhat  contemptu- 
ously. "So  I  thought  till  I  crossed  swords  with 
Nevers.  Now  I  think  differently." 

Cocardasse  whistled.  "The  devil  you  do,"  he  com- 
mented. 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Lagardere.  "It 
happened  three  months  ago.  That  secret  thrust 
piqued  me.  Then  people  talked  too  much  about 
Nevers;  that  irritated  me.  Wherever  I  went,  from 
court  to  camp,  from  tavern  to  palace,  the  name  of 
Nevers  was  dinned  in  my  ears.  The  barber  dressed 

59 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

your  hair  a  la  Nevers.  The  tailor  cut  your  coat  a  la 
Nevers.  Fops  carried  canes  a  la  Nevers;  ladies 
scented  themselves  a  la  Nevers.  One  day  at  the  inn 
they  served  me  cutlets  a  la  Nevers.  I  flung  the 
damned  dish  out  of  the  window.  On  the  doorstep 
I  met  my  boot -maker,  who  offered  to  sell  me  a  pair  of 
boots  a  la  Nevers.  I  cuffed  the  rascal  and  flung  him 
ten  louis  as  a  salve.  But  the  knave  only  said  to  me: 
'Monsieur  de  Nevers  beat  me  once,  but  he  gave  me 
a  hundred  pistoles."1 

Passepoil  sighed  for  the  sorrows  of  his  young  pu- 
pil: "Poor  little  Parisian!" 

Lagardere  went  on  with  his  tale:  "Now  I  am 
vainglorious  enough  to  hold  that  cutlets  would 
taste  good  if  they  were  cooked  a  la  Lagardere;  that 
coats  a  la  Lagardere  would  make  good  wearing,  and 
boots  a  la  Lagardere  good  walking.  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  Paris  was  not  big  enough  for  the 
pair  of  us,  and  that  Nevers  was  the  man  to  quit  the 
field.  Like  ^Esop  yonder,  I  laughed  at  the  secret 
thrust." 

He  paused,  and  Cocardasse  questioned:  "But  you 
don't  laugh  now?" 

Lagardere  answered  him,  gravely:  "Not  a  laugh. 
I  waited  for  Nevers  one  evening  outside  the  Louvre 
and  saluted  him.  'Sir,'  I  said,  in  my  grandest  man- 
ner, 'I  rely  upon  your  courtesy  to  give  me  a  moon- 
light lesson  in  your  secret  thrust.'  Lord,  how  he 
started.  'Who  the  devil  are  you?'  says  he.  I  made 
him  a  magnificent  bow.  'I  am  Henri  de  Lagardere, 

60 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  the  king's  Light-Horse.  I  am  always  in  trouble, 
always  in  debt,  always  in  love.  These  are  misfort- 
unes a  man  can  endure.  But  I  am  always  hearing 
of  your  merits,  which  is  fretting,  and  of  your  irresisti- 
ble secret  thrust,  and  that  is  unbearable." 

Lagardere  paused  to  give  dramatic  effect  to  the 
point  in  his  narrative. 

"What  did  he  say  to  that?"  asked  Passepoil. 

Lagardere  went  on:  "'Ah,'  said  the  duke,  'you  are 
the  fellow  they  call  handsome  Lagardere'"  (Lagar- 
dere interrupted  the  flow  of  his  story  with  a  pathetic 
parenthesis — "I  can't  help  it,  they  do  call  me  so"); 
'people  talk  too  much  about  you,  and  that  wearies 
me';  which  shows  that  he  had  a  touch  of  my 
complaint.  Well,  he  was  civility  itself.  We  went 
down  by  the  church  of  St.-Germain,  and  had  scarcely 
crossed  swords  when  the  point  of  his  rapier  pricked 
me  here,  just  between  the  eyes.  I  was  touched — I, 
Lagardere — and  if  I  had  not  leaped  backward  I 
should  have  been  a  dead  man.  'That  is  my  secret 
thrust,'  says  the  duke  with  a  smile,  and  wished  me 
good-evening." 


THE  PARRY  TO  THE  THRUST  OF  NEVERS 

HPHERE  was  a  heavy  stillness  in  the  room  when 
1  Lagardere  came  to  the  end  of  his  tale.  "This 
sounds  serious,"  Cocardasse  said,  gloomily,  and  those 
about  him  were  gloomily  silent. 

Lagardere  resumed  his  story:  "I  pondered  that 
thrust  for  a  month.  At  last  I  mastered  it.  I  tried 
it  on  the  Baron  de  Brissac  with  perfect  success." 

A  general  laugh  at  this  remark  relieved  the  ten- 
sion of  the  bravos'  nerves.  ^Esop  took  advantage 
of  the  more  cheerful  atmosphere  again  to  address 
Lagardere.  "Matchless  cavalier,"  he  asked,  with 
a  wry  assumption  of  politeness,  "would  you  show 
me  that  thrust  you  esteem  so  highly?" 

Lagardere  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  whimsical 
smile.  "With  pleasure,"  he  said,  and  drew  his  sword, 
^sop  did  likewise,  and  while  the  bravos  drew  back 
towards  the  wall  to  allow  a  free  space  for  the  lesson 
the  two  swordsmen  came  on  guard.  Lagardere  ex- 
plained while  he  fenced,  naming  each  feint  and  lunge 
and  circle  of  the  complicated  attack  as  he  made  it. 
With  the  last  word  of  his  steel-illuminated  lecture 

62 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

his  sword,  that  had  illustrated  the  words  of  the  fencer, 
seemed  suddenly  to  leap  forward,  a  glittering  streak 
of  light. 

^Esop  leaped  back  with  a  yell,  and  clapped  his 
left  hand  to  his  forehead.  "Damnation!"  he  cried. 

Cocardasse,  who  had  been  following  the  proceed- 
ings with  the  keenest  attention,  hurried  out  of  the 
circle  of  spectators.  "Splendid!"  he  cried.  "What 
is  the  parry?" 

"It  is  as  clear  as  day,"  Lagardere  answered.  "This 
is  how  the  trick  is  done,"  and  again,  as  he  spoke,  his 
blade  explained  his  text,  gleaming  and  twisting  in  the 
cunning  evolutions  of  the  riposte. 

Cocardasse,  who  had  drawn  his  own  sword,  re- 
peated Lagardere 's  words  and  parodied  Lagardere 's 
gestures  faithfully.  "I  see,"  he  said,  and  turned  to 
the  others,  who  had  lost  nothing  of  the  lesson.  "Have 
you  caught  it,  boys?  It  might  serve — " 

Lagardere  interrupted  him,  indifferent  to  the  evil 
appreciation  on  the  faces  of  the  spectators.  "It 
will  serve  at  once.  I  am  going  to  try  it  on  its  mas- 
ter." 

"On  Nevers?"  queried  Staupitz,  hoarsely. 

Lagardere  nodded.  "On  no  less  a  man.  I  should 
have  told  you  that  I  plagued  him  until  he  promised 
me  my  revenge.  When  I  was  exiled  I  wrote  to  re- 
mind him."  Lagardere  drew  a  letter  from  his  breast 
and  held  it  up  for  a  moment  before  returning  it  to 
its  lodging.  "In  this  letter  he  accepts  my  challenge, 
names  the  time,  the  place — " 

63 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse  interrupted:    "What  time?" 

"To-night  at  ten,"  Lagardere  replied. 

"The  place?"  asked  Passepoil. 

"The  moat  of  Caylus,"  Lagardere  answered.  He 
pointed  to  the  window  at  which  ^Esop  had  been 
sitting  so  long.  "You  can  see  it  from  that  win- 
dow." 

There  was  a  general  look  of  astonishment  on  the 
faces  of  all  the  bravos.  Passepoil,  quick  with  his 
Norman  caution,  glanced  at  Staupitz  and  the  group 
about  him,  and  put  his  finger  cautiously  to  his  lips. 

Cocardasse  was  still  inquisitive.  "Why  there?" 
he  questioned. 

Lagardere  explained,  amiably:  "Because  such  is 
the  good  duke's  pleasure.  When  I  sent  him  my 
cartel  I  made  it  plain  that  I  had  little  time  on  my 
hands,  as  I  was  anxious,  on  account  of  the  king's 
fire-new  zeal  against  duelling,  to  cross  the  frontier  as 
speedily  as  might  be.  I  knew  the  duke  was  staying 
on  his  estates  near  by,  and  I  suggested,  with  a  fine 
show  of  gravity,  that  possibly  his  highness  was  ac- 
quainted with  some  quiet  place  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Castle  of  Caylus  where  we  might  settle  our 
little  difference.  Oh,  the  words  were  solemnly 
couched,  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I  laughed  heartily 
when  I  wrote  them." 

Lagardere  laughed  again  in  memory  of  that  former 
mirth  as  he  made  an  end  of  speaking.  Cocardasse 
scratched  an  ear  and  glanced  at  Passepoil.  Passe- 
poil scratched  an  ear  and  glanced  at  Cocardasse. 

64 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

The  rest  of  the  bravos  stared  with  a  sullen  curiosity 
at  Lagardere,  who  paid  no  heed  to  their  gaze. 

"Why  did  you  laugh?"  Cocardasse  asked,  after  a 
short  pause. 

Lagardere  answered  him  affably:  "Because  I  knew 
that  my  allusion  to  Caylus  would  fret  my  excellent 
enemy.  There  is,  it  seems,  a  beauty  hidden  in  that 
gloomy  castle,  Gabrielle  de  Caylus,  whom  my  duke 
adores  in  spite  of  the  ancient  feud  between  the  two 
houses  of  Caylus  and  Nevers.  It  should  please  him 
to  fight  under  the  eyes  of  his  lady  love,  whom  I  can 
console  if  I  win." 

The  idea  seemed  to  please  Lagardere,  for  he  again 
began  to  laugh  softly  to  himself  after  he  had  finished 
speaking.  But  Cocardasse  did  not  seem  to  think  it 
was  a  laughing  matter,  for  his  voice  was  almost 
solemn  as  he  asked:  "Did  you  speak  of  the  lady  in 
your  letter  to  Nevers?" 

Lagardere  interrupted  his  mirth  to  reply:  "Of 
course.  The  situation  is  so  humorous.  I  suggested 
playfully  that  there  was  a  lovely  princess  imprisoned 
in  the  castle  of  a  wicked  old  ogre  named  Caylus, 
and  I  hinted  that  if  things  turned  out  as  I  hoped, 
I  might  be  fortunate  enough  to  carry  solace  and 
freedom  to  the  captive  damsel."  He  paused  for  a 
moment  and  then  asked  in  wonder:  "Why  do  you 
pull  such  long  faces?" 

For,  indeed,  the  faces  of  the  swashbucklers  were 
almost  funereal  in  their  solemnity.  Passepoil,  re- 
lying upon  his  Norman  cunning,  took  it  upon  himself 

65 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  explain  a  ticklish  situation.     "It  is  lucky  we  are 
here  to  help  you,"  he  said,  knowingly. 

Lagardere's  laughter  became  more  pronounced. 
"To  help  me?"  he  cried,  and  he  shook  with  amuse- 
ment at  the  absurdity  of  the  words. 

Passepoil  insisted:  "It's  no  laughing  matter. 
Nevers  is  the  lady's  husband." 

He  spoke  with  a  portentous  solemnity  against 
which  Lagardere  protested,  laughing  louder  than 
before.  "On  the  contrary,  it  is  more  laughable  than 
ever.  A  secret  marriage.  A  romance.  Perhaps  I  shall 
have  to  soothe  a  widow  when  I  hoped  to  woo  a  maid." 

"Better  have  a  sword  or  two  to  back  you,"  Cocar- 
dasse  suggested,  cunningly. 

Lagardere  frowned.  "No,  thank  you.  I  do  my 
own  fighting." 

Passepoil  whispered,  insinuatingly:  "Could  I  help 
to  carry  off  the  lady?" 

Lagardere's  frown  deepened.  "No,  thank  you.  I 
do  my  own  love-making.  Clear  out  and  leave  me 
alone.  That  is  all  I  want  of  you,  my  friends." 

Cocardasse  sighed.  "I'd  do  anything  in  the 
world  to  oblige  you,  but —  "  He  paused  and  looked 
helplessly  at  his  former  pupil,  whom  his  faltering 
speech,  his  hesitating  manner  began  to  anger. 

"But  what?"  said  Lagardere,  sharply. 

Cocardasse  made  an  apologetic  gesture.  "Every 
man  to  his  trade.  We  also  are  waiting  for  some  one." 

Lagardere  raised  his  eyebrows.  "Indeed,  and 
that  some  one?" 

66 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

The  bravos  looked  at  one  another  uneasily,  trying 
to  seem  devil-may-care  and  failing  wofully.  No- 
body appeared  to  want  to  speak.  At  last  Passepoil 
spoke.  "That  some  one  is  Louis  de  Nevers,"  he 
said,  and  wished  heartily  that  he  did  not  have  to 
say  it. 

Lagardere  at  first  appeared  to  be  puzzled  by  the 
answer.  Then  the  full  meaning  of  it  seemed  to 
fall  upon  him  like  a  blow,  and  his  face  blazed  at  the 
insult.  "Nevers!  You!  Ah,  this  is  an  ambuscade, 
and  I  have  sat  at  drink  with  assassins!" 

Cocardasse  protested:  "Come,  captain,  come." 

Lagardere's  only  answer  was  to  spring  back  clear 
of  the  nearest  swordsmen  and  to  draw  his  sword 
again.  The  bravos  gathered  together  angrily  about 
Staupitz,  buzzing  like  irritated  bees. 

Lagardere  flung  his  comely  head  back,  and  his 
bright  eyes  flamed  with  a  royal  rage.  His  words 
came  quick  and  clear  in  his  anger:  "It  was  for 
this  you  sought  to  learn  Nevers's  thrust,  and  I — 
Oh,  it  would  make  the  gods  laugh  to  think  that  I 
taught  it  to  you!  You  have  the  best  of  the  joke 
so  far,  excellent  assassins,  but  if  any  one  of  you 
touches  a  hair  of  Nevers's  head  he  will  find  that  the 
joke  is  two-edged,  like  my  sword.  If  Nevers  must 
die,  it  shall  be  in  honorable  battle  and  by  my  hands, 
but  not  by  yours,  while  Lagardere  lives." 

^sop  commented,  sneeringly:  "Lagardere  is  not 
immortal." 

Staupitz  grunted,  angrily:  "Shall  one  man  dictate 
67 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  nine?"   and  made  an   appealing  gesture  to  his 
comrades,  inciting  them  against  their  censor. 

Lagardere  faced  their  menaces  with  the  con- 
temptuous indifference  with  which  a  mastiff  might 
have  faced  as  many  rats.  He  commanded,  imperi- 
ously: "Pack  off,  the  whole  gang  of  you,  and  leave 
Nevers  to  me!" 

The  bravos  still  buzzed  and  grumbled:  Cocar- 
dasse  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully;  Passepoil 
pinched  his  long  nose.  The  situation  was  becoming 
critical.  Lagardere  was  Lagardere,  but  he  was  only 
one  man,  after  all,  in  a  narrow  room,  against  great 
odds.  Truly,  the  odds  would  be  diminished  if  the 
quarrel  came  to  actual  blows,  for  Cocardasse  was 
resolved,  and  he  knew  that  Passepoil  was  resolved 
also,  to  side  with  Lagardere  in  such  an  emergency. 
But  even  with  the  situation  thus  altered  the  result 
could  only  be  unnecessary  bloodshed,  which  would  be 
bad,  for,  if  Lagardere  was  their  dear  Little  Parisian, 
the  others  were  also  their  comrades.  Further,  it 
would  mean  the  postponing,  probably  the  abandon- 
ment, of  their  enterprise  against  Nevers,  which  would 
be  much  worse.  Cocardasse  plucked  the  Norman  to 
him  with  a  strong  finger  and  thumb,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear:  "Get  the  boys  away  and  shift  the  keys." 

Passepoil  nodded,  and  glided  discreetly  among  the 
bravos  huddled  together  at  the  table,  whispering 
the  words  of  Cocardasse  in  the  ears  of  each. 

Lagardere  frowned  at  this  mystery.  "What  are 
you  whispering?"  he  asked,  angrily. 

68 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse  explained,  plausibly.  "Only  that  if  you 
wanted  to  keep  Nevers  to  yourself — " 

Passepoil  interrupted,  concluding:  "It  mattered  lit- 
tle who  did  the  job." 

By  this  time  the  bravos,  who  at  the  beginning 
of  the  quarrel  had  unhooked  their  rapiers  from  the 
wall,  were  now  pulling  their  cloaks  about  them 
and  making  for  the  main  door.  The  Italian,  the 
Breton,  the  Spaniard,  the  Biscayan,  and  the  Portu- 
guese filed  out  into  the  passage,  followed  by  ALsop, 
who  turned  to  pay  Lagardere  a  mocking  salutation 
and  to  say,  tauntingly:  "So  good-night,  gallant  cap- 
tain." 

Staupitz,  with  an  air  of  surly  carelessness,  sauntered 
down  to  the  only  other  door  in  the  room,  the  door 
that  led  to  the  domestic  offices  of  the  Inn.  While 
he  did  so,  Cocardasse  held  out  his  hand  to  Lagardere 
in  sign  of  amity,  but  Lagardere  refused  it.  "I  am 
no  precisian,"  he  said.  "I  have  kept  vile  company. 
I  would  not  deny  my  hand  to  a  hangman.  But  the 
most  tolerant  philosopher  has  his  dislikes,  and  mine 
are  assassins." 

Cocardasse  sighed,  and  made  for  the  main  door, 
followed  by  Passepoil,  who  said,  wistfully,  "Adieu, 
Little  Parisian,"  a  greeting  of  which  Lagardere  took 
no  notice. 

Now,  while  ^sop  had  been  saying  his  taunting 
farewell  to  Lagardere  he  had  been  standing  with 
his  back  to  the  door,  and  with  his  left  hand  had  dex- 
terously abstracted  the  key.  Also,  while  Cocardasse 

69 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

had  been  endeavoring  to  gain  a  clasp  of  the  hand 
from  Lagardere,  Staupitz  had  quietly  locked  the 
door  leading  to  the  kitchen  and  put  that  key  in  his 
pocket.  Now  Staupitz,  Cocardasse,  and  Passepoil 
went  in  their  turn  through  the  main  door  and  drew 
it  behind  them. 

Lagardere  seated  himself  at  the  table  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  as  he  heard  the  heavy  feet  trampling  down 
the  passage,  but  his  relief  did  not  last  long.  His 
quick  ears  caught  a  sound  that  was  undoubtedly  the 
click  of  a  key  in  a  lock,  followed  by  the  shuffle  of 
cautiously  retiring  feet.  He  instantly  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and,  rushing  to  the  main  door,  caught  at  the 
handle  and  found  the  door  firmly  locked. 

"Damn  them!"  he  cried;  "they  have  locked  the 
door."  Then  he  began  to  shout,  furiously,  calling 
first  upon  Cocardasse,  and  then  upon  Passepoil  by 
name  to  open  the  door  immediately,  knowing  these 
two  to  be  his  friends  among  the  gang  of  rascals.  But 
no  answer  came  to  his  cries,  and,  vigorous  though  he 
was,  his  efforts  had  no  effect  upon  the  solid  strength 
of  the  door.  Turning,  he  hurried  to  the  door  which 
led  to  the  kitchen  and  tried  that,  only  to  find  that  it, 
too,  was  locked  against  him,  and  that  it,  too,  was 
impregnable.  He  looked  about  him  hurriedly.  He 
knew  it  was  no  use  calling  for  the  people  of  the  Inn, 
who  would  be  sure  to  side  with  their  truculent  cus- 
tomers, and  he  knew  also  that,  if  he  did  not  succeed 
in  making  his  escape  from  the  trap  into  which  he 
had  blundered,  Nevers  would  be  murdered. 

70 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

He  rushed  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  The 
sight  was  not  pleasing.  The  rugged  rock  on  which 
the  Inn  was  perched  dropped  beneath  him  thirty 
feet  to  the  moat  below,  and,  though  his  eyes  eagerly 
scanned  the  face  of  the  cliff,  he  could  see  no  possibility, 
even  for  one  so  nimble  as  himself,  of  climbing  down 
it  successfully.  To  jump  such  a  height  would  be  to 
end  as  a  jelly  and  be  of  no  service  to  Nevers.  For 
a  few  wild  moments  he  cursed  his  folly  in  having 
been  deluded  by  the  bravos,  and  then  his  native 
high  spirits  and  his  native  humor  came  to  his  as- 
sistance, reminding  him  that  he  always  made  it  his 
business  to  look  upon  the  diverting  side  of  life,  and 
that  it  was  now  clearly  his  duty  to  seek  for  the  en- 
tertaining elements  of  the  present  predicament.  Un- 
doubtedly, these  were  hard  to  find.  The  jest  was 
decidedly  a  bitter  one,  and  could  only  be  turned  to 
his  taste  if  he  succeeded  in  getting  out.  But  how  was 
he  to  succeed  ?  He  tried  the  door  again,  despairingly 
and  unsuccessfully  as  before.  He  reflected  that  per- 
haps there  might  be  a  rope  in  the  room,  and  anxiously 
he  looked  in  every  corner.  No  rope  was  to  be  found. 

Clapping  his  hands  to  his  sides  in  his  vexation  at 
being  thus  baffled,  he  touched  the  soft  substance  of 
his  silken  sash,  and  instantly  an  idea  kindled  at  the 
touch.  "Perhaps  this  will  do,"  he  thought,  and 
hurriedly  proceeded  to  unwind  it.  It  was  a  long 
sash,  for  it  went  from  his  shoulder  to  his  waist  and 
then  three  times  round  his  middle,  where  it  was  tied 
in  a  large  bow  with  long  ends.  It  was  at  least  fifteen 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

feet  long,  and  as  tough  as  any  hemp  that  was  ever 
twisted.  He  fastened  one  end  of  it  quickly  round  a 
bar  in  the  window,  and  let  the  long  crimson  streamer 
drop  down  the  side  of  the  cliff.  Using  this  as  a 
means  of  descent,  it  would  bring  him  half-way  down 
the  rock.  Hanging  by  his  arms,  he  would  cover 
much  of  the  remaining  distance,  and  the  drop  thence 
to  the  ground  would  be  easy.  In  another  moment  he 
was  outside  the  window,  and,  grasping  the  silk  firm- 
ly in  his  strong  fingers,  began  his  perilous  descent. 


VI 

THE    MOAT   OF    CAYLUS 

THE  descent  into  the  moat  of  Caylus  was  rather 
a  ticklish  business,  even  with  the  aid  of  an  im- 
provised rope,  for  the  face  of  the  cliff  was,  for  the 
most  part,  smooth,  and  afforded  little  in  the  way  of 
foothold,  but  Lagardere  was  a  trained  athlete  and 
a  man  of  great  physical  strength,  one  that  could  use 
his  feet  with  skill  for  purchase  against  the  face  of 
the  rock,  and  he  made  his  way  dexterously  to  the  end 
of  his  tether.  Even  when  he  had  got  thus  far,  and 
was  swinging  by  his  hands  from  the  end  of  his  taut 
sash,  he  was  a  considerable  distance  from  the  ground. 
But  Lagardere  let  go  with  as  light  a  heart  as  if  he 
were  a  new  Curtius  leaping  into  a  new  gulf;  and,  in- 
deed, if  he  had  been  of  a  mind  to  make  the  parallel, 
he  would  have  counted  his  stake  as  great  as  the 
safety  of  Rome.  Dropping  like  a  plummet,  he  alight- 
ed on  his  hands  and  knees  on  the  ground.  Quickly 
he  picked  himself  up,  dusted  the  earth  from  his  palms, 
and,  after  carefully  feeling  himself  all  over  to  make 
sure  that  he  was  none  the  worse,  save  for  the  jar 
of  his  tumble,  he  looked  about  him  cautiously.  It 

73 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

was  late  evening  now,  and  the  hot  day  knew  no  cooler 
dusk. 

As  he  looked  up  from  the  strange  vault  in  which 
he  stood,  the  vault  that  was  formed  by  the  moat  of 
Caylus  between  the  rock  on  which  the  castle  rose 
and  the  rock  on  which  the  Inn  of  the  Seven  Devils 
was  perched,  he  saw  above  him  the  late  evening  sky 
painted  with  the  strangest  pageant.  To  the  right 
of  the  spot  where  the  sun  had  declined  the  purple 
melancholy  of  the  heavens  was  broken  by  a  blaze  of 
gold,  such  as  might  have  flashed  from  the  armor  of 
some  celestial  host  marshalled  and  marching  against 
the  Powers  of  Darkness.  To  the  left,  under  lowered 
eyelids  of  sable  clouds,  there  ran  a  band  of  red  fire 
that  seemed  as  if  it  must  belt  the  earth  with  its  fury, 
a  red  fire  that  might  have  flamed  from  the  mouth 
of  the  very  pit.  Lagardere  was  not  over-imaginative, 
but  the  strangeness  of  the  contrast,  the  fierce  splendor 
of  the  warring  colors,  touched  the  player's  heart  be- 
neath the  soldier's  hide.  "The  gold  of  heaven,"  he 
murmured,  and  saluted  the  sky  to  the  right.  "The 
rod  of  hell,"  he  thought,  and  pointed  towards  the 
left,  where  distant  trees  stared,  black,  angry  outlines 
against  those  waves  of  livid  fire.  Was  not  this  con- 
test in  the  clouds  a  kind  of  allegory  of  the  quarrel  in 
which  he  was  now  engaged,  and  was  not  his  cause 
very  surely,  in  its  righteousness,  its  justice,  its  honor, 
gilded  and  invigorated  by  those  noble  rays  to  strive 
against  and  overthrow  the  legionaries  of  evil? 

Even  as  he  thought  such  unfamiliar  thoughts,  the 
74 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

pageant  of  opposing  forces  dimmed  and  dwindled. 
The  darkness  was  gathering  swiftly,  investing  the 
world  with  its  legion  of  gloom;  and  in  the  shadow 
of  the  great  Castle  of  Caylus,  rising  like  a  rock  itself 
out  of  the  solid  rock  behind  Lagardere,  the  moat 
was  soon  very  dark  indeed.  There  was  little  light  in 
the  moonless  sky;  there  came  none  from  the  castle, 
which  in  its  dim  outline  of  towers  and  battlements 
might  have  been  the  enchanted  palace  of  some  fairy 
tale,  so  soundless,  so  lightless,  so  unpeopled  did  it 
seem.  There  was  a  faint  gleam  discernible  in  the 
windows  of  the  Inn  on  the  other  side  of  the  gorge 
from  which  he  had  just  succeeded  in  escaping. 

Lagardere  looked  up  at  the  Inn  and  laughed;  La- 
gardere looked  up  at  the  castle  and  smiled.  What 
was  she  like,  he  wondered,  that  beautiful  Gabrielle 
de  Caylus,  whom  it  had  been  his  impudent  ambition 
to  woo,  and  whom  he  now  knew  to  be  married  to 
Nevers,  his  appointed  antagonist  ?  He  had  come  all 
that  way  with  the  pleasant  intention  of  killing  Nevers, 
but  he  felt  more  friendly  towards  his  enemy  since  he 
had  learned  of  the  plot  against  his  life,  and  he  won- 
dered who  was  the  instigator  of  that  plot,  who  was 
the  paymaster  of  the,  as  he  believed,  baffled  assassins. 
For  in  a  sense  he  believed  them  to  be  baffled,  and 
this  for  two  reasons.  The  first  was  that  he  heard 
no  sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  creeping  across  the 
bridge.  The  second  was  that  when  he  glanced  up 
at  the  Inn  window  he  saw  that  the  dim  glow  in  the 
distant  window  was  suddenly  occulted,  and  then 

75 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

as  suddenly  became  visible  again.  It  was  plain  to 
Lagardere  that  some  one  had  entered  the  room  and 
had  looked  out  of  the  window  for  an  instant.  There- 
fore some  one  had  already  discovered  his  absence, 
probably  the  maid  of  the  Inn.  No  doubt  she  would 
send  word  to  the  bravos,  and  it  might  very  well 
chance  that  the  bravos  would  not  think  the  odds 
in  their  favor  sufficiently  good  when  they  knew  that 
they  had  to  deal  with  Henri  de  Lagardere  as  well  as 
with  Louis  de  Nevers. 

Lagardere  whistled  cheerfully  the  lilt  of  a  drinking- 
song  as  he  reflected  thus,  for  he  considered  himself 
quite  equal  to  handling  the  whole  batch  of  rascallions 
if  only  he  had  a  wall  of  some  kind  to  back  him.  He 
was  fondling  the  possibility  that  they  had  given  up 
the  whole  business  in  disgust  at  his  interruption  of 
their  purpose,  when  it  suddenly  stabbed  his  fancy 
that  they  might  ambush  Nevers  on  his  way.  But 
he  dismissed  that  fear  instantly.  He  hoped  and  be- 
lieved that  if  they  knew  he  was  free  they  would 
give  him  the  first  chance  to  kill  Nevers  for  them.  In 
any  case,  all  that  he  could  do  was  to  wait  patiently 
where  he  was  and  see  what  the  creeping  minutes 
brought. 

The  moat  of  Caylus  did  not  appear  to  him  to  be, 
under  the  existing  conditions,  by  any  means  the 
ideal  field  for  a  duel.  In  the  darkness  it  seemed  to 
him  to  be  more  happily  adapted  for  a  game  of  blind- 
man's-buff.  There  was  a  half-filled  hay-cart  in  the 
moat,  and  bundles  of  hay  were  scattered  hither  and 

76 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

thither  on  the  ground  and  littered  the  place  con- 
fusingly.  Lagardere  began  to  busy  himself  in  clear- 
ing some  of  this  hay  out  of  the  way,  so  as  to  afford 
an  untroubled  space  for  the  coming  combat.  While 
he  was  thus  engaged  he  heard  for  the  first  time  a 
faint  sound  come  from  the  direction  of  the  castle. 
It  was  the  sound  of  a  door  being  turned  cautiously 
upon  its  hinges.  Crouching  in  the  shadow  of  the 
rock  down  which  he  had  lately  descended,  Lagar- 
dere looked  round  and  saw  dimly  two  forms  emerge 
like  shadows  from  the  very  side  of  the  castle.  The 
new-comers  had  come  forth  from  a  little  postern 
that  gave  onto  the  moat,  to  which  they  descended 
by  some  narrow  steps  cut  in  the  rock,  and  they  now 
walked  a  little  way  slowly  into  the  darkness.  Lagar- 
dere, all  watchfulness,  could  hear  one  of  the  shadows 
say  to  the  other,  "This  way,  monseigneur,"  and  the 
word  "monseigneur"  made  him  wonder.  Was  he 
going  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  the  Marquis  of 
Caylus,  the  old  ogre  whose  grim  tyranny  had  been 
talked  of  even  in  Paris  ? 

The  shadow  addressed  as  monseigneur  answered, 
"I  see  no  one,"  and  the  voices  of  both  the  shadows 
were  unfamiliar  to  the  listener.  But  the  voice  of  the 
shadow  that  was  saluted  as  monseigneur  sounded 
like  the  voice  of  a  young  man. 

The  leading  shadow  seemed  to  be  peering  into 
the  darkness  in  front  of  him.  "I  told  them  to  place 
a  sentinel,"  he  said  to  his  companion;  and  as  he 
spoke  he  caught  sight  of  Lagardere,  who  must  have 

77 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

looked  as  shadowy  to  him  as  he  looked  to  Lagardere, 
and  he  pointed  as  he  added:  "Yes.  there  is  some  one 
there,  monseigneur." 

"Who  is  it?"  the  second  shadow  questioned,  and 
again  the  voice  sounded  youthful  to  Lagardere 's 
ears. 

"It  looks  like  Saldagno,"  said  the  first  shadow; 
and,  coming  a  little  farther  forward,  he  called  dubi- 
ously into  the  gloom:  "Is  that  you,  Saldagno?" 

Now,  as  Saldagno  was  the  name  of  one  of  the 
swordsmen  who  had  met  at  the  Inn  in  menace  of 
Nevers,  Lagardere  came  to  the  swift  conclusion  that 
the  two  shadows  now  haunting  him  had  something 
to  do  with  that  conspiracy,  and  that,  if  it  were 
possible,  it  would  be  as  well  to  learn  their  purposes. 
He  was,  therefore,  quite  prepared  to  be  Saldagno 
for  the  occasion,  and  it  was  with  a  well-affected 
Lusitanian  accent  that  he  promptly  answered,  "Pres- 
ent, "  and  came  a  little  nearer  to  the  strangers. 

The  first  shadow  spoke  again,  craning  a  long  neck 
into  the  darkness.  "It  is  I,  Monsieur  Peyrolles. 
Come  here." 

Lagardere  advanced  obediently,  and  the  second 
shadow,  coming  to  the  side  of  his  companion,  ques- 
tioned him.  "Would  you  like  to  earn  fifty  pistoles ?" 

Although  both  the  voices  were  strange  to  Lagar- 
dere, the  voice  of  this  second  shadow  seemed  to 
denote  a  person  of  better  breeding  than  his  com- 
panion, a  person  accustomed  to  command  when  the 
other  was  accustomed  to  cajole.  Also,  it  was  de- 

78 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

cidedly  the  voice  of  a  young  man.  Whoever  the 
speaker  might  be,  he  certainly  was  not  the  crabbed 
old  Marquis  de  Caylus.  Lagardere  endeavored  eager- 
ly but  unsuccessfully  to  see  the  face  of  the  speaker. 
Night  had  by  this  time  fallen  completely.  The  moat 
was  as  black  as  a  wolf's  mouth,  and  the  shadow 
that  was  muffled  in  a  cloak  held  a  corner  of  it  so 
raised  that  it  would  have  concealed  his  visage  if  the 
gorge  had  been  flooded  with  moonlight. 

"Who  would  not?"  Lagardere  answered,  with  a 
swagger  which  seemed  to  him  appropriate  to  a  light- 
hearted  assassin. 

The  shadow  gave  him  commands.  "When  ten 
o'clock  strikes,  tap  at  this  window  with  your  sword." 
He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  the  wall  of  the  castle, 
and  in  that  wall  Lagardere,  peering  through  the 
obscurity,  could  faintly  discern  a  window  about  a 
man's  height  from  the  moat.  The  speaker  went  on: 
"A  woman  will  open.  Whisper  very  low,  '  I  am  here.' " 

Involuntarily  Lagardere  echoed  the  last  words,  "I 
am  here,"  and  added,  "The  motto  of  Nevers." 

There  was  annoyance  in  the  well-bred  voice  as  it 
questioned,  sharply:  "What  do  you  know  of  Nevers  ?" 

Peyrolles  respectfully  answered  for  the  sham 
Saldagno:  "  Monseigneur,  they  all  know  whom  they 
are  to  meet.  How  they  know  I  cannot  tell,  but  they 
do  know.  But  they  are  to  be  trusted." 

The  shadow  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  resumed 
his  instructions:  "The  woman  will  hand  you  a 
child,  a  baby  a  few  months  old.  Take  it  at  once  to 

79 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  Inn."     He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  said, 
slowly:  "I  trust  you  are  not  tender-hearted." 

Lagardere  protested  with  voice  and  gesture. 
"You  pain  me,"  he  declared. 

Apparently  satisfied,  the  shadow  went  on:  "If 
the  girl  should  die  in  your  arms,  no  one  will  blame 
you,  and  your  fifty  pistoles  will  be  a  hundred.  Tis 
but  a  quick  nip  of  finger  and  thumb  on  an  infant's 
neck.  Do  you  understand?" 

"What  I  do  not  understand,"  retorted  Lagardere, 
"is  why  you  do  not  do  the  job  yourself  and  save  your 
money." 

It  was  now  Peyrolles's  turn  to  be  annoyed.  "Ras- 
cal!" he  exclaimed,  angrily.  But  the  man  he  called 
mon seigneur  restrained  him. 

"Calm,  Peyrolles,  calm!  For  the  very  good  rea- 
son, inquisitive  gentleman,  that  the  lady  in  question 
would  know  my  voice  or  the  voice  of  my  friend  here, 
and  as  I  do  not  wish  her  to  think  that  I  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  to-night's  work — " 

Lagardere  interrupted,  bluffly:  "Say  no  more. 
I'm  your  man." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  plaintive  sound  of  a  horn 
was  heard  far  away  in  the  distance.  Peyrolles 
spoke:  "The  first  signal.  The  shepherds  have  been 
told  to  watch  and  warn  at  the  wood-ends  and  the 
by-path  and  the  causeway  to  the  bridge.  Nevers 
has  entered  the  forest." 

The  noble  shadow  gave  a  little  laugh.  "He  is 
riding  to  his  death,  the  fool  amorist.  Come." 

80 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Then  the  two  shadows  flitted  away  in  the  dark- 
ness as  nebulously  as  they  had  come,  and  the  castle 
swallowed  them  up,  and  Lagardere  was  alone  again 
in  the  moat  among  the  bundles  of  hay. 

"May  the  devil  fly  away  with  you  for  a  pair  of 
knaves!"  he  said  beneath  his  breath,  apostrophizing 
the  vanished  shadows.  "But  I'll  save  the  child 
and  Nevers  in  spite  of  you."  For  in  those  moments 
of  horrid  colloquy  all  his  purpose  had  been  trans- 
muted. These  unknown  plotters  of  murder  had 
confirmed  him  in  his  alliance  to  the  man  he  had 
come  to  slay.  So  long  as  Nevers  was  in  peril  from 
these  strange  enemies,  so  long  Lagardere  would  be 
his  friend,  free,  of  course,  to  rekindle  his  promise 
later.  But  now  even  Nevers's  life  was  not  of  the 
first  importance.  There  was  a  child  threatened,  a 
child  to  be  saved.  Who  were  these  devils,  these 
Herods,  that  sought  to  slay  a  baby? 

Even  as  he  asked  himself  this  question  he  could 
hear  through  the  clear  air  the  striking  of  a  clock  in 
the  distant  village.  He  counted  the  strokes  from 
one  to  ten.  This  was  the  time  that  had  been  fixed 
by  the  master  shadow.  Lagardere  made  his  way  care- 
fully across  the  moat  till  he  stood  beneath  the  desig- 
nated window.  He  drew  his  sword  and  tapped  with 
the  blade  thrice  against  the  pane.  Then  he  sheathed 
his  sword  and  waited  upon  events. 

6 


VII 

BROTHERS-IN-ARMS 

HE  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  a  few  moments  the 
window  above  him  turned  softly  on  its  hinges, 
and  a  head  appeared  in  the  open  space.  The  chamber 
from  which  the  window  opened  was  unilluminated, 
and  the  light  in  the  moat  was  so  dim  that  Lagardere 
could  only  perceive  the  vague  outline  of  a  woman's 
head  and  shoulders  leaning  forward  into  the  dark- 
ness. Even  in  that  moment  of  tension  he  felt  him- 
self stirred  by  a  sharp  regret  that  he  should  not  be 
able  to  judge  for  himself  as  to  the  beauty  of  the  lady 
whom  the  world  called  Gabrielle  de  Caylus,  but  whom 
he  knew  to  be  the  Duchess  de  Nevers.  A  very  low, 
sweet  voice  called  to  him  through  the  darkness,  speak- 
ing the  Christian  name  of  Nevers. 

"Louis!"  the  woman  said,  and  Lagardere  imme- 
diately answered,  "I  am  here."  He  spoke  very  low, 
that  his  voice  might  not  be  recognized,  and  because 
he  had  the  mimic's  trick  he  made  his  voice  as  like 
as  he  could  to  the  voice  of  Nevers. 

Evidently  his  voice  was  not  recognized,  evidently 
the  lady  took  him  for  her  lord,  for  she  immediately 

82 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

went  on  speaking  very  low  and  clear,  her  words 
falling  rapidly  from  above  on  the  ears  of  the  waiting 
Lagardere. 

"Do  not  speak,  Louis,"  she  said;  "do  not  linger. 
I  am  watched;  I  fear  danger.  Take  our  dear  Ga- 
brielle." 

As  she  spoke  she  leaned  her  body  a  little  farther 
forward  into  the  night  and  extended  her  arms  tow- 
ards her  hearer. 

Lagardere  tingled  with  a  sudden  thrill  as  he  realized 
that  this  beautiful  woman  was  nearer  to  him,  that 
she  was  seeking  him,  that  she  believed  him  to  be  her 
lover.  And  he  realized  with  a  pang  that  he,  impu- 
dent in  his  libertinism,  had  entertained  with  a  light 
heart  the  light  hope  in  some  audacious  way  to  take 
by  storm  the  love  of  this  unknown  woman.  It  had 
seemed,  in  Paris,  an  insolently  boyishly  possible,  plaus- 
ible adventure;  but  now,  in  his  new  knowledge  and 
in  this  distant,  lonely  place,  his  enterprise,  that,  after 
all,  was  little  more  than  an  impish  vision,  seemed 
no  other  than  a  tragi  -  comical  impertinence.  All 
that  he  had  known  of  Gabrielle  de  Caylus  was  that 
she  was  reported  fair,  and  that  she  was  loved  by  his 
enemy.  All  that  he  knew  of  her  now  was  that  she 
was  his  enemy's  wife,  that  she  had  a  gracious  voice, 
and  that  she  loved  his  enemy  very  dearly;  yet  this 
was  enough  for  Lagardere,  this,  and  to  know  that  the 
woman  was  all  unconsciously  trusting  to  his  honor, 
to  his  courage,  to  his  truth.  And  it  was  with  an  un- 
familiar exaltation  of  the  spirit  that  Lagardere  swore 

83 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  himself  that  the  unwitting  confidence  of  Gabriellc 
de  Caylus  should  not  be  misplaced,  and  that  all  his 
hand,  his  heart,  his  sword  could  do  for  her  service 
should  cheerfully  and  faithfully  be  done. 

Lagardere  could  see  that  she  was  holding  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  bundle  in  her  out-stretched 
arms.  This  was  the  child,  no  doubt,  of  whom  the 
masked  shadow  had  spoken.  Lagardere  took  the 
bundle  cautiously  in  his  hands  and  lowered  it  to  a 
secure  resting-place  in  his  left  arm.  Then  the  Duch- 
ess de  Nevers  spoke  again,  and  he  saw  that  she  was 
holding  another  and  smaller  object  in  her  hand. 

"This  packet,"  she  said,  "contains  the  papers  re- 
cording our  marriage,  torn  from  the  register  of  the 
chapel.  I  feared  they  would  be  destroyed  if  I  did 
not  save  them." 

As  she  spoke  she  put  the  packet  into  Lagardere 's 
extended  right  hand,  and  as  his  fingers  closed  upon 
it  the  horn  that  he  had  heard  before  was  wound  again 
in  the  distance,  but  this  time  it  seemed  to  his  keen 
ears  that  the  sound  was  nearer  than  before. 

The  woman  in  the  window  gave  a  shiver.  "There 
is  much  to  say,"  she  sighed,  "but  no  time  to  say  it 
now.  That  may  be  a  signal.  Go,  go,  Louis.  I  love 
you." 

In  another  moment  her  head  was  drawn  back  into 
the  darkness  of  the  apartment,  the  window  closed,  and 
the  old  castle  was  as  silent  and  obscure  as  before. 
If  it  were  not  for  the  bundle  in  his  left  arm  and  the 
packet  in  his  right  hand,  Lagardere  might  well  have 

84 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

been  tempted  to  believe  that  the  whole  episode  was 
no  more  than  the  fancy  of  a  dream.  He  thrust  the 
packet  into  his  breast,  and  then  moved  slowly  tow- 
ards the  centre  of  the  moat,  tenderly  cradling  his 
precious  charge.  Peering  closely  down  at  the  bun- 
dle, he  could  dimly  discern  what  seemed  to  be  a 
baby  face  among  the  encircling  folds  of  silk  which 
wrapped  the  child.  It  was  sleeping  soundly;  the 
transition  from  its  mother's  arms  to  the  arms  of  the 
soldier  of  fortune  had  not  wakened  it,  and  now,  as 
Lagardere  gently  rocked  it  in  his  arms,  it  continued 
to  sleep. 

The  whimsicality  of  the  adventure  began  to  tickle 
Lagardere 's  fancy.  He  seemed  to  be  destined  to 
play  many  parts  that  night.  A  few  minutes  back 
he  had  masqueraded  as  a  bravo  to  deceive  the  mys- 
terious shadows.  Then  he  had  pretended  to  be  a 
husband  to  deceive  the  Duchess  de  Nevers.  Now 
he  imitated  a  nurse  in  order  that  Nevers 's  child  might 
sleep  soundly.  He  looked  again  at  the  quiet  morsel 
of  humanity,  and  his  heart  was  stirred  with  strange 
desires  and  melancholy  imaginings.  Raising  his  hand 
to  his  hat,  he  uncovered  solemnly  and  made  the  baby 
a  sweeping  salute. 

"Mademoiselle  de  Nevers,"  he  whispered,  "your 
loyal  servant  salutes  you!  Sleep  in  peace,  pretty 
sweetheart." 

Then  he  began  to  sing  softly  beneath  his  breath  the 
burden  of  an  old  French  lullaby  which  he  remem- 
bered from  his  childhood  days,  with  its  burden  of 

85 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Do,  do,  1'enfant  do,  1'enfant  dormira  tantdt,"  and 
as  he  sang  the  horn  again  sounded  the  same  dreary, 
prolonged  note  as  before,  but  now  more  clearly,  and 
therefore  plainly  nearer. 

"That  must  be  the  last  signal,"  Lagardere  thought, 
and  on  the  moment  he  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  bridge,  and  out  of  the  darkness  beyond  a 
man  slowly  descended  into  the  darkness  of  the  moat. 
In  another  instant  Lagardere  heard  the  well-known 
voice  of  Nevers  calling  out:  "Halloo!  Is  any  one 
here?" 

Lagardere  advanced  to  meet  his  appointed  enemy. 
"This  way,  duke!"  he  cried.  Then  he  added,  re- 
provingly: "You  would  have  been  wiser  to  carry  a 
lantern." 

Nevers  moved  swiftly  towards  him  along'the  kind 
of  path  that  Lagardere  had  made  in  the  bundle  of 
hay,  and  as  he  came  he  spoke,  and  his  tone  was 
menacing  and  imperious.  "Let  me  feel  your  blade. 
I  can  kill  in  the  dark." 

Lagardere  answered  him,  ironically:  "Gifted  gen- 
tleman! But  I  want  a  talk  first." 

He  had  scarcely  finished  when  a  flash  like  light- 
ning stabbed  the  darkness  and  came  very  near  to 
stabbing  him.  It  was  the  sword  of  Nevers,  who 
was  thrusting  wildly  before  him  into  the  gloom,  while 
he  cried:  " Not  a  word!  You  have  insulted  a  woman!" 

Lagardere  beat  a  rapid  retreat  for  a  few  paces, 
and  called  to  him:  "I  apologize  humbly,  abjectly.  I 
kneel  for  forgiveness." 

86 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Nevers's  only  answer  was  to  follow  up  and  thrust 
rapidly  at  Lagardere's  retreating  figure,  while  he 
cried,  fiercely:  "Too  late." 

There  was  nothing  for  Lagardere  to  do  but  to 
defend  himself  in  order  to  gain  time  with  this 
passionate  madman.  Therefore,  Lagardere  drew  his 
sword  and  parried  the  attack  which  Nevers  was  now 
making  at  close  quarters.  It  was  so  dark  in  the 
moat  that  the  two  antagonists  could  scarcely  see  each 
other,  and  even  the  brightness  of  the  blades  was  with 
difficulty  distinguished.  In  a  voice  that  was  at  once 
anxious  and  mocking,  Lagardere  cried  to  the  duke: 
"Unnatural  parent,  do  you  wish  to  kill  your  child?" 

The  last  word  stopped  Nevers  like  a  blow.  He 
lowered  his  sword  and  spoke  wonderingly:  "My  child! 
What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Lagardere  answered  him,  gravely:  "At  this  mo- 
ment Mademoiselle  de  Nevers  is  nestled  in  my  arms." 

Nevers  echoed  him,  astonished:  "My  daughter, 
in  your  arms  ?" 

Lagardere  came  quite  close  to  the  duke  and  showed 
him  the  bundle  cradled  in  his  elbow.  "See  for  your- 
self; but  step  gently,  for  the  young  lady's  sleep  must 
be  respected." 

Nevers  gave  a  gasp  of  surprise.  "What  has  hap- 
pened?" 

Lagardere  answered  him,  slowly:  "Madame  de 
Nevers  gave  this  little  lady  to  me  just  now  from 
yonder  window,  taking  me  for  you.  There  is  a  plot 
to  kill  the  child,  to  kill  you." 

87 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Nevers  gave  a  groan.  "This  is  the  hate  of  the 
Marquis  de  Cay  his." 

"I  don't  know  who  is  doing  the  job,"  Lagardere 
answered,  "but  what  I  do  know  is  that  the  night 
is  alive  with  assassins.  I  think  I  have  got  rid  of 
some  of  them,  but  there  may  be  others,  wherefore 
prudence  advises  us  to  be  off." 

He  could  see  Nevers  stiffen  himself  in  the  dark- 
ness as  he  answered,  proudly:  "A  Nevers  fly?" 

Lagardere  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Even  I  have 
no  passion  for  flight,  but  with  a  sweet  young  lady  to 
defend—" 

Nevers  seemed  to  accept  his  correction.  "You  are 
right.  Forgive  me.  Let  us  go." 

The  two  men  turned  to  leave  the  moat,  but  as  they 
did  so  they  were  stopped  by  the  sound  of  fresh  foot- 
steps on  the  bridge,  and  in  another  instant  Nevers's 
page  had  descended  the  steps  and  ran  to  join  them. 

"My  lord!"  he  cried  to  the  duke  as  soon  as  he 
reached  the  pair — "my  lord,  my  lord,  you  are  sur- 
rounded!" 

Nevers  gave  an  angry  cry:  "Too  late!" 

Lagardere  answered  him  with  a  laugh.  "Non- 
sense! There  are  but  nine  rascals." 

But  the  laugh  died  away  upon  his  lips  when  the 
page  hurriedly  interrupted:  "Twenty  at  least." 

Lagardere  was  staggered  but  emphatic.  "Nine, 
duke,  nine.  I  saw  them,  counted  them,  know  them." 

The  page  was  equally  emphatic.  "They  have  got 
help  since  you  came.  There  are  smugglers  here- 

88 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

abouts,  and  they  have  recruited  their  ranks  from 
them." 

Lagardere  grunted.  "  Ungentlemanly,"  he  pro- 
tested, and  then  addressed  Nevers:  "Well,  duke, 
we  can  manage  ten  apiece  easily."  He  turned  to 
the  boy  and  gave  him  some  quick  instructions. 
"Creep  through  the  wood  behind  the  castle  to  the 
highway.  Run  like  the  devil  to  the  cross-roads, 
where  my  men  wait.  Tell  them  Lagardere  is  in 
danger.  They  may  be  here  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

The  boy  answered  him,  decisively:  "They  shall 
be." 

Lagardere  patted  him  on  the  back.  "Good  lad," 
he  said,  and  the  boy  darted  from  his  side  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  darkness. 

Lagardere  turned  to  the  duke.  "There  is  no 
chance  of  escaping  now  without  a  scuffle,"  he  said; 
"we  must  fight  it  out  as  well  as  we  can.  You  and 
I,  duke,  ought  not  to  think  it  a  great  matter  to 
handle  ten  rascals  apiece  in  this  fighting -place,  if 
only  we  intrench  ourselves  properly." 

As  he  spoke  he  laid  his  precious  bundle  reverently 
in  the  hay-cart,  where  it  seemed  to  sleep  as  peacefully 
as  if  it  were  in  its  native  cradle,  and  began  piling  up 
the  great  masses  of  the  bundles  of  hay  in  front  of 
him  to  form  a  kind  of  rampart. 

Nevers  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Do  you 
stand  by  me?" 

Lagardere  answered  him  cheerfully.  "I  came  here 
to  fight  with  you.  I  stay  here  to  fight  for  you.  I 

89 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

must  fight  somebody.  I  lose  by  the  change,  for  it  is 
a  greater  honor  to  fight  Monsieur  de  Nevers  than 
a  battalion  of  bravos,  but  there  is  no  help  for  it." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  and  then  Nevers  said, 
slowly:  "You  are  a  splendid  gentleman." 

"There  is  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about,"  Lagar- 
dere  said,  lightly.  "  I  am  this  little  lady's  soldier.  I 
came  here  in  a  cutthroat  humor  enough,  but  since 
I  dandled  her  daintiness  in  my  arms  I've  taken  a  fine 
liking  for  her  father." 

Nevers  reached  out  his  hand  to  Lagardere.  "Hence- 
forward we  are  comrades — brothers." 

Lagardere  clasped  the  extended  hand.  "Heart 
and  hand,  for  life  and  death,  brother." 


VIII 

THE    FIGHT   IN   THE    MOAT 

A3  they  stood  there,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  ex- 
changing the  dateless  pledge  of  brotherhood, 
they  heard  the  sound  of  many  feet  coming  cautious- 
ly along  the  road  to  the  bridge.  The  practised  as- 
sassins walked  catfoot,  but  there  were  others  that 
shuffled  in  their  care  to  go  warily. 

Nevers  said,  quietly:    "Here  come  the  swords." 
Lagardere  gave  a  jolly  laugh.     "Now  for  a  glorious 
scrimmage!"  he  said,  and  made  his  sword  sing  in  the 
air. 

As  he  spoke  the  words,  shade  after  shade  began  to 
descend  the  steps  from  the  bridge  and  to  advance 
cautiously  into  the  moat.  Lagardere  counted  them 
as  they  came:  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven, 
eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  thirteen,  fourteen, 
fifteen,  sixteen,  seventeen,  eighteen,  nineteen,  twenty. 
Even  in  the  darkness  he  thought  he  could  recognize 
certain  figures:  the  twisted  form  of  the  hunchback, 
the  burly  body  of  Cocardasse,  the  gaunt  figure  of 
the  Norman,  the  barrel  bulk  of  Staupitz.  This  bar- 
rel bulk  came  to  the  front  of  the  shadows  huddled 
together  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  and  spoke  with  the 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

thick,  Teutonic  voice  that  Lagardere  had  heard  so 
short  a  time  before.  "There  they  are,"  Staupitz 
said,  and  Lagardere  could  see  a  gleam  in  the  night  as 
the  German  pointed  to  where  the  two  newly  bound 
comrades  stood  together. 

An  instant  answer  came  with  the  defiant  cry  of 
Nevers,  "I  am  here!"  which  was  immediately  echoed 
by  Lagardere.  "I  am  here!"  he  shouted;  and  then 
added  for  himself:  "Lagardere!  Lagardere!" 

Among  the  bravos  a  momentary  note  of  comedy 
intruded  upon  the  intended  tragedy,  as  is  often  the 
way  when  humanity  foregathers  on  sinister  business. 
Cocardasse  plucked  Passepoil  by  the  sleeve  and  drew 
him  a  little  away  from  their  fellow-ruffians.  "We 
cannot  fight  against  the  Little  Parisian,"  he  whis- 
pered into  the  Norman's  ear.  "We  will  look  on, 
comrade."  Passepoil  nodded  approval,  but  spoke 
no  word.  For  the  rest  of  that  red  adventure  into 
the  placid  blackness  of  the  night  those  two  stood 
apart  in  the  shadow,  with  their  arms  folded  and 
their  swords  in  their  sheaths,  sombrely  watching  the 
seven  men  that  were  their  friends  assailing  the  one 
man  they  loved.  Such  honor  as  they  had  forbade 
them  to  change  sides  and  fight  for  the  Little  Parisian. 
They  had  been  paid  to  range  with  the  assailants 
of  Nevers.  But  no  payment  could  possibly  prevail 
on  them  to  attack  Lagardere.  So,  according  to 
their  consciences,  they  split  the  difference  and  held 
aloof.  Their  abstention  was  not  noticed  by  their 
fellows  in  the  excitement  of  the  time. 

92 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Numerous  as  they  were,  the  bravos  and  their  new 
recruits  seemed  unwilling  to  advance  against  two  such 
famous  swordsmen.  Lagardere  taunted  their  apathy: 

"Come,  you  crows,  the  eagles  wait  for  you."  He 
felt  that  the  words  had  a  fine  theatrical  ring,  and 
he  enjoyed  them  as  he  flung  them  forth. 

Nevers  cried  his  cry,  "I  am  here!"  and  Lagardere 
repeated  it,  "I  am  here!"  He  was  longing  to  come 
to  blows  with  the  bandits,  and  to  show  them  what 
two  men  could  do  against  their  multitude.  His 
sword  quivered  like  a  snake  in  its  eagerness  to  feel 
blades  against  its  blade. 

The  barrel  bulk  of  Staupitz  spoke  again  addressing 
his  little  army.  "Do  you  fear  two  men?"  he  asked. 
"Forward!" 

On  the  word  the  eighteen  men  charged,  the  original 
seven  leading;  the  eleven  recruits,  less  whole-hearted 
in  the  business,  came  less  alertly  in  the  rear.  The 
charge  of  the  assassins  was  abruptly  arrested  by 
Lagardere's  bulwark,  and  over  that  bulwark  the 
swords  of  the  two  defenders  flashed  and  leaped,  and 
before  every  thrust  a  man  went  down.  It  seemed  an 
age  of  battle,  it  seemed  an  instant  of  battle.  Then 
the  baffled  assassins  recoiled,  leaving  two  of  the 
smugglers  for  dead,  while  Saldagno  and  Faenza  were 
both  badly  wounded,  and  cursing  hideously  in  Por- 
tuguese and  Italian. 

Behind  the  intrenchments,  Lagardere  chuckled  as 
he  heard.  He  turned  to  Nevers.  "Are  you  wound- 
ed?" he  asked,  anxiously. 

93 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

And  Nevers  answered,  quietly:  "A  scratch  on  the 
forehead." 

As  he  saw  Nevers  lift  his  hand  for  a  moment  to 
the  space  between  his  eyes,  Lagardere  groaned  to  him- 
self, "My  damned  fencing-lesson,"  and  mentally  prom- 
ised to  make  his  enemies  pay  for  their  readiness  to 
learn.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  an  opportunity. 

The  discomfited  bravos  were  rapidly  gathering  to- 
gether for  a  fresh  attack.  This  time  their  leading 
spirit  was  no  longer  Staupitz,  disagreeably  conscious 
of  the  difficulties  of  the  enterprise,  but  the  hunch- 
back ^sop,  who  seemed  to  burn  with  a  passion  for 
slaughter.  Lagardere  likened  him  in  his  mind  to 
some  ungainly,  obscene  bird  of  prey,  as  he  loomed 
out  of  the  mirk  waving  his  gaunt  arms  and  shrieking 
in  his  rage  and  hate.  "Kill  them!  kill  them!"  he 
screamed,  as  he  rushed  across  the  intervening  space, 
and  the  bravos,  heartened  by  his  frenzy  of  fight, 
streamed  after  him,  flinging  themselves  desperately 
against  the  piled-up  hay,  only  to  meet  again  the  ir- 
resistible weapons  of  the  friends,  and  again  to  recoil 
before  them.  Nevers  held  his  own  on  one  side; 
Lagardere  held  his  own  on  the  other.  Nevers  de- 
livered his  thrust  at  JEsop,  and  for  the  second  time 
that  day  the  hunchback  felt  the  prick  of  steel  be- 
tween his  eyes  and  saved  himself  by  springing  back- 
ward, his  blood's  fire  suddenly  turned  to  ice.  Lagar- 
dere's  sword  was  like  a  living  fire.  "Look  out, 
Staupitz!  Take  that,  Pepe!"  he  cried,  and  wounded 
both  men.  Then,  while  the  German  and  the  Span- 

94 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

iard  fell  back  swearing,  he  turned  joyously  to  Nevers, 
for  his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  galloping  on 
the  distant  highway. 

"Good  cheer,  brother!  I  hear  horses.  My  men 
are  coming.  Lagardere!  Lagardere!" 

Nevers  responded  joyously,  "  I  am  here!     Victory!" 

By  this  time  the  ground  was  strewn  with  the  dead 
and  wounded  of  their  assailants,  and,  save  for  the 
slight  scratch  on  Nevers's  forehead,  the  defenders 
were  unhurt.  The  galloping  of  horses  was  now  dis- 
tinctly heard,  and  the  sound  was  as  displeasing  to  the 
bravos  as  it  was  delightful  to  Lagardere. 

Delightful,  indeed,  for  the  sake  of  his  companion, 
whom  he  was  so  hot  to  save.  Otherwise,  Lagardere, 
so  far  as  he  had  clearness  enough  to  think  coherently 
at  all,  thought  that  he  had  never  lived,  had  never 
hoped  to  live,  through  moments  so  delightful.  To  be 
in  the  thick  of  such  a  brawl,  to  be  fighting  side  by 
side  with  the  best  swordsman  in  all  France  against 
what  might  well  be  considered  overwhelming  odds, 
and  to  be  working  havoc  and  disaster  among  his 
antagonists,  stirred  Lagardere's  blood  more  blithely 
than  ripe  wine.  He  had  fought  good  fights  before 
now,  but  never  such  a  fight  as  this,  in  the  black  and 
dark  night,  with  the  dim  air  thick  with  hostile  swords, 
and  the  night  wind  singing  songs  of  battle  in  his 
ears.  To  live  like  this  was  to  be  very  much  alive; 
this  had  a  zest  denied  to  any  calmly  planned  duello; 
this  had  a  poetry  fiercer  and  finer  than  the  shock  of 
action  in  the  daylit  lanes  of  war. 

95 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

He  called  merrily  to  the  bravos  to  renew  their 
assault,  but  the  bravos  hung  back  discouraged; 
even  the  murder-zeal  of  ^Esop  had  flagged.  Then, 
in  an  instant,  the  attacked  became  the  attackers, 
on  the  impulse  of  Nevers.  Shouting  anew  the  motto 
of  his  house,  "I  am  here!"  he  leaped  lightly  over  the 
rampart  of  hay,  soliciting  the  swords  of  his  foemen. 
Lagardere  followed  his  example  in  an  instant,  and 
the  pair  now  carried  the  war  into  the  enemies'  coun- 
try, charging  the  staggered  assassins,  who  scattered 
before  them.  Lagardere  drove  some  half  a  dozen 
of  the  rogues,  including  Staupitz  and  the  discom- 
fited JEsop,  towards  the  bridge.  Nevers,  nearer  to 
the  castle,  struck  down  in  quick  succession  two  of 
the  ruffians  that  were  rash  enough  to  stand  their 
ground,  and  stood  for  the  moment  alone  and  un- 
assailed,  the  master  of  his  part  of  the  field. 

Noiselessly  behind  him  the  little  postern  of  Cay- 
lus  opened.  Noiselessly  two  shadows  emerged,  both 
masked  and  both  holding  drawn  swords.  Though  it 
was  still  all  blackness  under  the  walls  of  the  castle, 
there  was  now  a  little  light  in  the  sky,  where  a  pale 
moon  swam  like  a  golden  ship  through  wave  after 
wave  of  engulfing  cloud.  The  pair  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  to  make  sure  that  indeed  their  auxiliaries 
were  being  routed.  Then  the  foremost  shadow  glided 
quietly  close  to  Nevers,  where  he  stood  flushed  with 
victory. 

"  I  am  here !"  Nevers  cried,  exulting,  as  he  waved  his 
conquering  sword  and  looked  in  vain  for  an  antagonist. 

96 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"I  am  here!"  repeated  the  shadow  behind  him, 
mockingly,  and  thrust  his  weapon  deep  into  the 
victor's  side.  Nevers  reeled  before  the  suddenness 
and  sureness  of  the  stroke,  and  fell  on  his  knees  to 
the  ground  with  a  great  cry  that  startled  Lagardere 
and  stayed  him  in  his  triumph.  Nevers,  striving  to 
rise,  turned  his  face  against  his  treacherous  enemy, 
and  seemed  to  recognize  the  shadow  in  spite  of  its 
masked  visage. 

"You!"  he  gasped — "you,  for  whom  I  would  have 
given  my  life!" 

"Well,  I  take  it,"  the  shadow  whispered,  grimly, 
and  stabbed  him  again.     Nevers  fell  in  a  huddle  to 
the  earth,  but  he  raised  his  dying  breath  in  a  cry. 

"Help,  Lagardere!  help!  Save  the  child!  Avenge 
me!" 

Then  he  died.  Though  the  assassin  stabbed  again, 
he  only  stabbed  a  corpse.  Lagardere,  who  was  broom- 
ing his  foes  before  him  as  a  gardener  brooms  autumnal 
leaves  from  grass,  had  been  arrested  in  his  course  by 
the  first  cry  of  the  wounded  Nevers.  While  he  paused, 
his  antagonists,  rallying  a  little  and  heartened  by 
their  numbers,  made  ready  for  a  fresh  attack.  Then, 
swiftly,  came  Nevers's  last  wild  call  for  help,  and 
Lagardere,  with  a  great  fear  and  a  great  fury  in  his 
heart,  turned  from  the  steps  leading  to  the  bridge 
and  made  to  join  his  comrade.  But  the  clustering 
swordsmen  heard  that  cry,  too,  and  found  new  cour- 
age in  the  sound.  It  meant  that  one  of  the  demi- 
gods with  whom,  as  it  seemed,  they  were  warring, 
7  97 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

was  now  no  more  than  common  clay,  and  that  there 
was  good  hope  of  ending  the  other.  They  came  to- 
gether; they  came  upon  Lagardere;  they  strove  to 
stay  him  in  his  way.  They  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  stay  a  hurricane.  Lagardere  beat  them  back,  cut 
them  down,  and  swept  through  their  reeling  line  to 
the  spot  where  Nevers  was  lying. 

"I  am  here!"  he  shouted,  and  faced  the  masked 
shadow.  "Murderer,  you  hide  your  face,  but  you 
shall  bear  my  mark,  that  I  may  know  you  when  we 
meet  again." 

The  slayer  of  Nevers  had  stood  on  guard  by  the 
side  of  his  victim  when  Lagardere  came  towards 
him.  By  his  side  the  masked  companion  extended 
a  cautious  blade.  In  one  wild  second  Lagardere 
beat  down  the  slayer's  sword  and  wounded  the 
unknown  man  deeply  on  the  wrist.  The  assassin's 
sword  fell  from  his  hand,  and  the  assassin,  with  a 
cry  of  rage,  retreated  into  the  darkness.  Lagardere 
had  only  time  to  brand  the  traitor;  he  had  not 
the  time  to  kill  him.  Looking  swiftly  about  him,  he 
saw  that  his  vengeance  must  be  patient  if  he  were 
to  save  his  skin  from  that  shambles.  The  sword  of 
the  satellite  defended  the  master;  other  swords 
began  to  gleam  anew.  From  all  the  quarters  of 
that  field  of  fight  the  bravos  were  gathering  again, 
all  there  were  left  of  them,  and  Lagardere  was  now 
alone.  With  the  activity  of  the  skilled  acrobat  he 
leaped  backward  to  the  cart,  and,  while  he  still 
faced  his  enemies  and  while  his  terrible  sword  glit- 

98 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

tered  in  ceaseless  movement,  he  snatched  the  child 
from  the  sheltering  hay  with  his  left  hand,  arid, 
turning,  began  to  run  at  his  full  speed  towards  the 
bridge.  There  were  bravos  in  his  path  that  thought 
to  stay  him,  but  they  gave  way  before  the  headlong 
fury  of  his  rush  as  if  they  believed  him  to  be  irresist- 
ible, and  he  reached  the  steps  in  safety. 

Once  there  he  turned  again  and  raised  his  sword 
in  triumph,  while  he  cried,  fiercely:  "Nevers  is  dead! 
Long  live  Nevers!" 

By  now  the  galloping  of  horses  sounded  loud  as 
immediate  thunder,  and  even  as  Lagardere  spoke 
a  number  of  shadowy  horsemen  had  occupied  the 
bridge  behind  him,  and  those  in  the  moat  could  see 
above  them  the  glint  of  levelled  muskets.  The 
servant  shadow  held  the  postern  open  with  a  trem- 
bling hand  to  harbor  the  survivors  of  the  strife.  But 
the  man  that  had  killed  Nevers,  the  man  that  Lagar- 
dere had  branded,  had  still  a  hate  to  satisfy. 

"A  thousand  crowns,"  he  cried,  "to  the  man  who 
gets  the  child!" 

Not  a  man  of  all  the  baffled  assassins  answered 
to  that  challenge.  Standing  upon  the  steps  of  the 
bridge,  Lagardere  caught  it  up. 

"Seek  her  behind  my  sword,  assassin!  You  wear 
my  mark,  and  I  will  find  you  out!  You  shall  all 
suffer  I  After  the  lackeys,  the  master!  Sooner  or 
later  Lagardere  will  come  to  you!" 


IX 

THE    SCYTHE    OF   TIME 

THE  years  came  and  the  years  went,  as  had  been 
their  way  since  the  fall  of  Troy  and  earlier.  To 
the  philosophic  eye,  surveying  existence  with  the  su- 
preme wisdom  of  the  initiate  into  mysteries,  things 
changed  but  little  through  eons  on  the  surface  of 
the  world,  where  men  loved  and  hated,  bred  and 
slew,  triumphed  and  failed,  lorded  and  cringed  as 
had  been  the  way  since  the  beginning,  when  the 
cave  man  that  handled  the  heavier  knuckle-bone 
ruled  the  roost.  But  to  the  unphilosophic  eye  of 
the  majority  of  mankind  things  seemed  to  change 
greatly  in  a  very  little  while;  and  it  seemed,  there- 
fore, to  the  superficial,  that  many  things  had  hap- 
pened in  France  and  in  Paris  during  the  seventeen 
years  that  had  elapsed  since  the  fight  in  the  moat 
of  Caylus. 

To  begin  with,  the  great  cardinal,  the  Red  Man, 
the  master  of  France,  had  dipped  from  his  dusk  to 
his  setting,  and  was  inurned,  with  much  pomp  and 
solemnity,  as  a  great  prince  of  the  church  should  be, 
and  the  planet  wheeled  on  its  indifferent  way,  though 

100 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Armand  du  Plessis,  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  was  no 
more.  His  Gracious  Majesty  Louis  the  Thirteenth, 
self  -  named  Louis  the  Just,  found  himself,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  futile  career,  his  own  master,  and 
did  not  know  quite  what  to  make  of  the  privilege. 
He  mourned  the  deceased  statesman  with  one  eye, 
as  it  were,  while  he  ogled  his  belated  goddess  of  free- 
dom with  the  other.  It  might  well  be  that  she  had 
paid  too  tardy  a  visit,  but  at  least  he  would  essay  to 
trifle  with  her  charms. 

Many  things  had  happened  to  the  kingdom  over 
which,  for  the  first  time,  his  Majesty  the  King  held 
undivided  authority  since  the  night  of  Caylus  fight. 
For  one  thing,  by  the  cardinal's  order,  all  the  for- 
tified castles  in  France  had  been  dismantled,  and 
many  of  them  reduced  to  ruins,  owl-haunted,  lizard- 
haunted  ,  ivy-curtained.  This  decree  did  not  especially 
affect  Caylus,  which  had  long  ceased  to  be  a  possible 
menace  to  the  state,  and,  after  the  death  of  the  grim 
old  marquis,  was  rapidly  falling  into  decay  on  its 
own  account  without  aid  from  the  ministers  of  Riche- 
lieu's will.  For  another  thing,  two  very  well-esteemed 
gentlemen  of  his  Majesty's  Musketeers,  having  been 
provoked  by  two  other  very  well-esteemed  gentle- 
men of  his  Eminence's  Musketeers,  had  responded 
to  the  challenge  with  the  habitual  alacrity  of  that 
distinguished  body,  and  had  vindicated  its  superi- 
ority in  swordcraft  by  despatching  their  antagonists. 
After  this  victory  the  gentlemen  of  the  Musketeers, 
remembering  the  rigor  of  the  cardinal's  antipathy 

101 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  duelling,  made  a  vain  effort  to  put  some  distance 
between  them  and  the  king's  justice.  They  were 
arrested  in  their  flight,  brought  back  to  Paris,  and 
perished  miserably  on  the  scaffold  by  the  pointless 
sword  of  the  executioner.  Each  of  these  events 
proved  in  its  degree  that  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  had 
very  little  respect  for  tradition,  and  that  if  he  dis- 
liked an  institution,  no  matter  how  time-hallowed  and 
admired  by  gentlemen,  he  did  away  with  it  in  the 
most  uncompromising  and  arbitrary  manner.  There 
were  many  other  doings  during  the  days  of  the  car- 
dinal's glory  that  are  of  no  account  in  this  chron- 
icle, though  they  were  vastly  of  importance  to  the 
people  of  France.  But  many  things  had  happened 
that  are  of  moment  to  this  chronicle,  and  these, 
therefore,  shall  be  set  down  as  briefly  as  may  be. 

News  did  not  travel,  when  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury was  still  young,  from  one  end  of  the  kingdom 
to  the  other  with  any  desperate  rapidity.  Even 
when  the  posts  rode  at  a  hand  gallop,  the  long  leagues 
took  their  long  time  to  cover,  and,  after  all,  of  most 
of  the  news  that  came  to  the  capital  from  abroad 
and  afar  it  was  generally  safe  to  disbelieve  a  full 
half,  to  discredit  the  third  quarter,  and  to  be  justi- 
fiably sceptical  as  to  the  remaining  portion.  But, 
credible  or  incredible,  all  news  is  blown  to  Paris,  as 
all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  and  in  the  fulness  of  time  it 
got  to  be  known  in  Paris  that  the  Duke  Louis  de 
Nevers,  the  young,  the  beautiful,  the  brilliant,  had 
come  to  his  death  in  an  extraordinary  and  horrible 

102 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

manner  hard  by  the  Spanish  frontier,  having  been, 
as  it  seemed,  deliberately  butchered  by  a  party  of 
assassins  employed,  so  it  was  said,  by  his  father-in- 
law,  the  old  Count  of  Caylus. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  the  well-informed  in  Paris 
to  credit  the  ignoble  rumor.  The  old  feud  between 
the  house  of  Caylus,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  house 
of  Nevers  on  the  other,  was  familiar  to  those  who 
made  it  their  business  to  be  familiar  with  the  move- 
ments of  high  persons  in  high  places;  and  when  on 
the  top  of  this  inherited  feud  you  had  the  secret 
marriage  between  the  son  of  the  house  of  Nevers  and 
the  daughter  of  the  house  of  Caylus,  there  was  every 
reason,  at  least,  to  believe  in  a  bloody  end  to  the 
business.  There  was,  however,  no  jot  of  definite 
proof  against  the  marquis.  Nevers's  dead  body  was 
found,  indeed,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  castle,  with 
three  sword  wounds  on  it,  one  inflicted  from  the 
back  and  two  from  the  front,  but  who  inflicted  or 
caused  to  be  inflicted  those  wounds  it  was  impossible 
to  assert  with  knowledge,  though  it  was  easy  enough 
to  hazard  a  conjecture. 

Anyway,  Louis  de  Nevers  was  dead.  It  was  amaz- 
ing news  enough  for  Paris,  but  there  was  more  amaz- 
ing news  to  follow.  To  begin  with,  Louis  de  Nevers's 
young  wife  was  now  formally  recognized  even  by  the 
old  marquis  as  Louis  de  Nevers's  young  widow.  It 
was  true  that  there  was  no  documentary  evidence 
of  the  marriage,  but  Prince  Louis  de  Gonzague.who 
happened  to  be  a  guest  of  the  Marquis  de  Caylus  at 

103 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  time  of  the  murder,  and  who  seemed  little  less 
than  inconsolable  for  the  death  of  his  friend,  came 
forward  in  the  handsomest,  gallantest  fashion  to  give 
his  evidence.  He  told  how  he  and  his  faithful  hench- 
man Peyrolles  had  been  the  witnesses  of  the  secret 
wedding.  He  succeeded  in  placating  the  wrath  of 
the  Marquis  of  Caylus.  He  succeeded  in  obtaining 
the  sanction  of  the  king,  and,  which  was  more  im- 
portant, the  sanction  of  the  cardinal,  to  the  recog- 
nition of  the  marriage  of  Mademoiselle  de  Caylus 
with  the  late  Duke  Louis  de  Nevers.  All  this  was 
thrilling  news  enough,  but  news  more  thrilling  was 
to  follow.  The  newly  recognized  Duchess  of  Nevers 
soon,  to  the  astonishment  and,  at  first,  the  blank 
incredulity  of  all  hearers,  took  to  herself  a  third 
name,  and  became  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Gonzague. 
There  was  soon  no  doubt  about  it.  She  had  con- 
sented to  marry,  and  had  married,  Prince  Louis  de 
Gonzague,  who,  as  all  the  world  knew,  had  been  the 
closest  friend  of  the  dead  Louis  of  Nevers  with  one 
exception,  and  that  was  Louis  of  Bourbon,  that  was 
King  of  France.  People  who  talked  of  such  things 
said,  and  in  this  they  were  generally  inspired  in 
some  way,  directly  or  indirectly,  by  friends  of  Prince 
Louis  de  Gonzague,  that  the  Duke  de  Nevers  had 
been  murdered  by  an  exiled  captain  of  Light-Horse, 
who  was  little  else  than  a  professional  bully,  and 
who  for  some  purpose  or  purposes  of  his  own  had, 
at  the  same  time,  succeeded  in  stealing  the  duke's 
infant  daughter.  What  the  reasons  might  be  for  this 

104 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

mysterious  act  of  kidnapping  they  either  were  not 
able  or  did  not  choose  always  to  explain.  It  was  an 
undoubted  fact  that  the  late  duke's  daughter  had 
disappeared,  for  the  grief  of  the  whilom  Duchess  de 
Nevers  and  present  Princess  de  Gonzague  was  exces- 
sive for  the  loss  of  her  child,  and  the  efforts  she  made 
and  the  money  she  spent  in  the  hope  of  finding  some 
trace  of  her  daughter  were  as  useless  as  they  were 
unavailing.  It  was  also  certain  that  on  or  about  the 
time  of  the  late  duke's  death  a  certain  captain  of 
Light-Horse,  whose  name  some  believed  to  be  Henri 
de  Lagardere,  had  fled  in  hot  haste  from  Paris  to 
save  his  audacious  head  from  the  outraged  justice 
of  the  king  for  fighting  a  duel  with  a  certain  trucu- 
lent Baron  de  Brissac  and  incontinently  killing  his 
man. 

What  connection  there  might  be  between  these 
two  events  those  that  busied  themselves  in  the  mat- 
ter left  to  the  imagination  and  intelligence  of  their 
hearers,  but  after  awhile  few  continued  to  busy  them- 
selves in  the  matter  at  all.  Nevers  was  dead  and 
forgotten.  The  fact  that  Nevers's  daughter  had  been 
stolen  was  soon  forgotten  likewise  by  all  save  the 
man  and  the  woman  whom  it  most  immediately  con- 
cerned. Few  troubled  themselves  to  remember  that 
the  Princess  de  Gonzague  had  been  for  a  brief  season 
the  Duchess  de  Nevers,  and  if  Louis  de  Gonzague, 
whenever  the  tragic  episode  was  spoken  of,  expressed 
the  deepest  regret  for  his  lost  heart's  brother  and  the 
fiercest  desire  for  vengeance  upon  his  murderer  or 

105 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

murderers,  the  occasions  on  which  the  tragic  episode  was 
referred  to  grew  less  year  by  year.  Louis  de  Gonzague 
flourished;  Louis  de  Gonzague  lived  in  Paris  in  great 
state;  Louis  de  Gonzague  was  the  intimate,  almost 
the  bosom  friend,  of  the  king;  for  Louis  of  Bourbon, 
having  lost  one  of  the  two  Louis  whom  he  loved, 
seemed  to  have  a  double  portion  of  affection  to  be- 
stow upon  the  survivor.  If  Louis  de  Gonzague  did 
not  himself  forget  any  of  the  events  connected  with 
a  certain  night  in  the  moat  of  Caylus;  if  he  kept 
emissaries  employed  in  researches  in  Spain,  emissaries 
whose  numbers  dwindled  dismally  and  mysteriously 
enough  in  the  course  of  those  researches,  he  spoke  of 
his  recollections  to  no  one,  save  perhaps  occasionally, 
to  that  distinguished  individual,  Monsieur  Peyrolles, 
who  shared  his  master's  confidences  as  he  shared  his 
master's  rise  in  fortunes.  For  Monsieur  Peyrolles 
knew  as  well  as  his  master  all  about  that  night  at 
Caylus  seventeen  years  before,  and  could,  if  he  chose 
— but  he  never  did  choose — have  told  exactly  how 
the  Duke  de  Nevers  came  to  his  death,  and  how  the 
child  of  Nevers  disappeared,  and  how  it  was  that  the 
battered  survivors  of  a  little  army  of  bravos  had 
been  overawed  by  the  muskets  of  a  company  of  Free 
Companions.  He  could  have  told  how  seven  gentle- 
men that  were  named  Staupitz,  Faenza,  Saldagno, 
Pepe,  Pinto,  Joel,  and  ^sop  had  been  sent  to  dwell 
and  travel  in  Spain  at  the  free  charges  of  Prince 
Louis  de  Gonzague,  with  the  sole  purpose  of  finding 
a  man  and  a  child  who  so  far  had  not  been  found, 

1 06 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

though  it  was  now  seventeen  years  since  the  hounds 
had  been  sent  a-hunting. 

But  though  a  year  may  seem  long  in  running,  it 
runs  to  its  end,  and  seventeen  years,  as  any  school- 
boy will  prove  to  you,  take  only  seventeen  times  the 
length  of  one  year  to  wheel  into  chaos.  So  these  sev- 
enteen years  had  been  and  had  ceased  to  be,  and  it 
was  again  summer-time,  when  many  people  travelled 
from  many  parts  of  the  world  for  the  pleasure  of 
visiting  Paris,  and  some  of  those  travellers  happened 
to  come  from  Spain. 


X 

A   VILLAGE    FAIR 

IT  was  a  custom  of  old  standing  in  the  little  vil- 
lage of  Neuilly  to  hold  a  fair  every  year  in  the  full 
flush  of  the  spring.  The  custom  of  this  fair  went 
back  for  ages;  antiquarians  declared  that  they  could 
find  traces  of  it  so  far  off  as  the  reign  of  the  good 
King  Dagobert  of  the  yellow  hair,  who  had,  as  immor- 
tal song  has  consecrated,  a  trifling  difficulty  with  his 
smallclothes;  at  least,  it  was  certain  that  it  dated 
from  a  very  long  time,  and  that  year  by  year  it  had 
grown  in  importance  with  the  people  who  go  to  fairs 
for  the  purposes  of  business,  and  in  popularity  with 
the  people  who  go  to  fairs  for  the  purposes  of  pleasure. 
Hither  came  half  the  tumblers,  rope-walkers,  con- 
tortionists, balancers,  bear -leaders,  puppet -players, 
wrestlers,  strong  men,  fat  women,  bearded  ladies, 
living  skeletons,  horrible  deformities,  lion -tamers, 
quack  doctors,  mountebanks,  and  jugglers  who  pa- 
trolled Europe  in  those  days,  and  earned  a  precarious 
living  and  enjoyed  the  sweets  of  a  vagabond  freedom 
in  the  plying  of  their  varied  trades. 

At  one  time  the  fair  of  Neuilly  had  attracted  only 
1 08 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  humbler  folk  from  Paris  to  taste  of  its  wares, 
but  as  it  had  gradually  grown  in  importance,  so,  ac- 
cordingly, it  had  increased  the  number  of  its  clients. 
First,  the  humbler  burgesses  came  with  their  wives 
to  gape  and  stare  at  the  marvels  it  displayed;  then 
their  example  was  followed  by  the  wealthier  of  their 
kind,  and  fur  and  velvet  moved  freely  among  the 
rabble  of  the  fair.  Now,  in  the  year  with  which  we 
deal,  it  had  been  for  some  little  time  the  fashion  for 
gentlefolk  to  drift  in  merry  parties  to  Neuilly  and 
enjoy  the  fun  of  the  fair  as  frankly  as  any  sober  bur- 
gess or  loose-tongued  clerk.  This  year,  however,  a 
greater  honor  still  was  in  store  for  the  fair  and  its  fel- 
lowships of  vagrant  playmakers.  It  was  known  to  a 
few,  who  were  privileged  to  share  the  secret,  and 
also  privileged  to  share  the  enjoyment  with  which 
that  secret  was  concerned,  that  his  Sovereign  Majesty 
Louis  of  Bourbon,  thirteenth  of  his  name  of  the  kings 
of  France,  intended  to  visit  incognito  the  fair  at 
Neuilly.  He  was  to  go  thither  accompanied  by  a  few 
of  the  choicest  spirits  of  his  court,  the  most  excellent 
of  the  rakes  and  libertines  who  had  been  received  into 
the  intimacy  of  the  king's  newly  found  liberty,  and 
those  same  rakes  and  libertines  felt  highly  nattered 
at  being  chosen  by  his  highness  for  his  companions 
in  an  enterprise  which  at  least  was  something  out  of 
the  beaten  track  of  the  rather  humdrum  amusements 
of  the  Louvre.  Why  the  king  particularly  wanted  to 
visit  the  fair  of  Neuilly  on  that  particular  day  of  that 
particular  spring-time,  none  of  those  that  were  in  the 

109 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

secret  of  the  adventure  professed  to  know  or  even 
were  curious  to  inquire.  It  was  enough  for  them 
that  the  king,  in  spite  of  his  ill-health,  looked  now 
with  a  favorable  eye  upon  frivolity,  and  that  a  sport 
was  toward  with  which  their  palates  for  pleasure  were 
not  already  jaded,  and  they  were  as  gleeful  as  chil- 
dren at  the  prospect  of  the  coming  fun. 

Neuilly  knew  nothing  of  the  honor  that  was  await- 
ing it.  Neuilly  was  busy  with  its  booths  and  its 
trestles  and  its  platforms  and  its  roped-in,  canvas- 
walled  circuses,  and  its  gathering  of  wanderers  from 
every  corner  of  Europe,  speaking  every  European 
tongue.  Neuilly  was  as  busy  as  it  well  might  be 
about  its  yearly  business,  and  could  scarcely  have 
made  more  fuss  and  noise  and  pother  if  it  had  known 
that  not  only  the  King  of  France,  but  every  crowned 
head  in  Christendom,  proposed  to  pay  it  a  visit. 

A  little  way  from  Neuilly,  to  the  Paris  side  of 
the  fair,  there  stood  a  small  wayside  inn,  which  was 
perched  comfortably  enough  on  a  bank  of  the  river. 
It  was  called,  no  one  knew  why,  the  Inn  of  the  Three 
Graces,  and  had,  like  many  another  wayside  inn  in 
France,  its  pleasant  benches  before  the  doors  for 
open-air  drinkers,  and  its  not  unpleasant  darkened 
rooms  inside  for  wassail  in  stormy  weather;  also  it 
had  quite  a  large  orchard  and  garden  behind  it  run- 
ning down  to  the  river's  edge,  where  the  people  of 
the  Inn  raised  good  fruit  and  good  vegetables,  which 
added  materially  to  the  excellence  of  their  homely 
table.  The  high-road  that  skirted  the  Inn  encoun- 

no 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

tered,  a  little  way  above  it,  a  bridge  that  spanned  the 
river  and  continued  its  way  to  Neuilly  and  the  fair 
and  the  world  beyond.  At  one  side  of  the  Inn  was 
a  little  space  of  common  land,  on  which,  at  this  time 
of  fair-making,  a  company  of  gypsies  were  encamped, 
with  their  caravans  and  their  ragged  tents  and  their 
camp-fires.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Inn  were  some 
agreeably  arranged  arbors,  in  whose  shadow  tables 
and  chairs  were  disposed  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
desired  to  taste  the  air  with  their  wine  and  viands. 
Taking  it  in  an  amiable  spirit,  the  Inn  of  the  Three 
Graces  seemed  a  very  commendable  place. 

All  day  long  on  the  day  of  which  we  speak,  and 
all  day  long  for  many  days  preceding  it,  there  had 
been  a  steady  flow  of  folk  from  the  direction  of 
Paris  making  in  the  direction  of  Neuilly,  and  not 
a  few  of  these,  taken  by  the  appearance  of  the  lit- 
tle wayside  Inn,  found  it  agreeable  to  refresh  them- 
selves by  slaking  their  thirst  and  staying  their 
stomachs  inside  or  outside  of  its  hospitable  walls. 
The  most  of  those  that  so  passed  were  sight-seers, 
and  these  the  Inn  saw  again  as  they  passed  home- 
ward in  the  dusk  or  sometimes  even  in  the  dark- 
ness with  the  aid  of  flambeaux  and  lanterns.  But 
a  certain  number  were,  as  might  be  said,  professional 
pedestrians,  peddlers  with  their  packs  upon  their 
shoulders,  anxious  to  dispose  of  ribbons  and  trinkets 
to  gaping  rustics,  easily  bubbled  burgesses,  and  to 
the  more  wary  histrions  and  mountebanks,  for  whom 
a  different  scale  of  charges  ranged. 

in 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

A  little  after  noon  on  the  day  in  question  the 
wayside  Inn  of  the  Three  Graces  was  quiet  enough. 
The  last  chance  visitor  had  emptied  his  can  and 
crossed  the  bridge  to  NeuiHy  and  its  delights;  the 
last  peddler  had  slung  his  pack  and  tramped  in  the 
same  direction ;  the  gypsies,  who  since  early  morning 
had  sprawled  upon  the  common  land,  had  shaken 
themselves  free  from  their  idleness  into  an  assump- 
tion of  activity,  and  had  marched  off  almost  in  a 
body  to  take  their  share  in  the  profits  of  the  occasion 
by  a  little  judicious  horse-coping  and  fortune-telling. 
One  of  their  number,  indeed,  they  left  behind  in  the 
great,  gaudy,  green-and-red  caravan  that  stood  in 
front  of  all  the  other  caravans  in  the  middle  of  the 
grassy  space — one  of  their  number  who  would  much 
have  preferred  the  merriment  and  the  sunlight  of 
the  fair  to  the  confinement  of  the  caravan,  but  who 
remained  in  the  caravan,  nevertheless,  because  she 
had  to  do  what  she  was  told. 

The  neighborhood  of  the  Inn,  therefore,  seemed 
strangely  deserted  when  a  man  appeared  upon  the 
bridge  in  the  direction  contrary  to  that  of  the  general 
stream  of  passers-by,  for  this  man  was  coming  from 
the  direction  of  Neuilly  and  was  going  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Paris.  He  was  a  twisted  man  with  a  hunched 
back,  who  was  clad  in  black  and  carried  a  long 
sword,  and  he  came  slowly  down  the  slope  of  the 
bridge  and  along  the  road  to  the  Inn,  looking  about 
him  quickly  and  cautiously  the  while  as  he  did  so. 
He  had  the  air  of  one  resolved  to  be  alert  against 

112 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

possible  surprises  even  where  surprises  were  im- 
probable if  not  impossible;  but  his  sinister  face  wore 
a  malign  smile  of  self-confidence  which  proclaimed 
that  its  wearer  felt  himself  to  be  proof  against  all 
dangers. 

8 


XI 

/ESOP    REDUX 

SEEING  that  the  neighborhood  was  vacant  of 
all  occupants,  the  hunchback  advanced  to  the 
Inn,  and,  seating  himself  at  a  table  under  one  of  the 
little  arbors,  drummed  lustily  with  his  clinched  fist 
upon  the  board.  In  answer  to  this  summons  the 
landlord  appeared  hurriedly  at  the  door  —  such  a 
man  as  had  evidently  been  destined  by  heaven  to 
play  the  part  of  landlord  of  a  wayside  inn. 

He  advanced  and  questioned  his  guest  obsequiously: 
"Your  honor  wants — " 

The  hunchback  answered  him,  roughly:  "Wine, 
good  wine.  If  you  bring  me  sour  runnings  I'll  break 
your  head." 

The  landlord  bowed  with  a  dipping  upward  pro- 
jection of  apologetic  hands.  "Your  honor  shall  have 
my  best." 

The  landlord  went  back  into  the  Inn,  and  the 
hunchback  sprawled  at  his  ease,  tilting  back  his 
chair  and  resting  his  lean,  black  legs  on  the  table. 
He  sat  thus  wise  for  some  little  time,  blinking  under 
the  shadow  of  his  large,  black  hat  at  the  pleasant 

114 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

sunlight  and  the  pleasant  grasses  about  him  with 
something  of  the  sour  air  of  one  to  whom  such  pleas- 
ant things  meant  little.  But  presently  his  careless 
eyes,  that  might  almost  have  seemed  to  be  asleep, 
so  much  were  the  lids  lowered,  suddenly  grew  alert 
again.  A  man  appeared  on  the  bridge— a  lank,  lean, 
yellow-skinned  man,  with  a  face  that  seemed  carved 
out  of  old  ivory,  with  furtive  eyes  and  a  fawning 
mouth.  The  new-comer  was  gorgeously,  over-gor- 
geously,  dressed,  and  his  every  movement  affected  the 
manners  of  a  grand  seigneur.  He  carried  a  tall 
cane  with  a  jewelled  knob,  on  which  his  left  hand 
rested  affectionately,  as  if  it  pleased  him,  even  in 
this  form,  to  handle  and  control  costly  things. 
Precious  laces  extravagantly  lapped  his  unattractive 
hands.  A  sword  with  a  jewelled  hilt  hung  from  his 
side.  The  moment  the  new-comer  saw  the  hunch- 
back he  hastened  towards  him,  but  the  hunchback, 
for  his  part,  for  all  his  plain  habit,  showed  no  defer- 
ence to  the  splendidly  dressed  gentleman  who  saluted 
him.  He  remained  in  his  easy,  sprawling  attitude, 
his  chair  still  tilted  back,  his  thin  legs  still  lolling 
on  the  table.  The  magnificent  gentleman  addressed 
him  with  a  certain  air  of  condescension  in  his  voice: 

"  Good  -  morning,  ;Esop.  You  are  punctual.  A 
merit." 

.^Esop,  without  rising  or  showing  any  deference  in  his 
manner,  answered  with  a  scarcely  veiled  note  of  inso- 
lence in  his  voice:  "Good-morning,  Monsieur  Pey- 
rolles.  You  are  not  punctual.  A  defect.  Sit  down." 

US 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles,  apparently  somewhat  dashed  by  the  cool- 
ness of  his  reception,  obeyed  the  injunction  of  the 
hunchback  and  seated  himself,  but  he  still  forced  the 
show  of  condescension  into  his  manner  and  strove 
to  maintain  it  in  his  voice  as  he  continued  the  con- 
versation. ' '  Though  it's — let  me  see — why,  it's  seven- 
teen years  since  we  met — I  knew  you  at  once." 

^Esop  grunted:  "Well,  I  knew  you  at  once,  if  it 
comes  to  that,  though  the  time  was  no  shorter." 

Peyrolles  smiled  awkwardly.  "You  haven't 
changed,"  he  observed. 

^Esop's  eyes  travelled  with  a  careful  and  con- 
temptuous scrutiny  over  the  person  of  his  old  em- 
ployer. "You  have.  You  didn't  wear  quite  such  fine 
clothes  when  I  saw  you  last,  my  friend.  What  luck 
it  is  to  have  a  master  who  makes  a  rich  marriage!" 

As  he  said  these  words  the  landlord  emerged 
from  the  Inn  with  a  tray  in  his  hands  that  bore  a 
bottle  and  glasses.  As  he  approached,  JEsop  swung 
his  legs  off  the  table  and  resumed  the  ordinary  atti- 
tude of  a  feaster.  The  landlord  placed  the  tray  on 
the  table,  thankfully  accepted  JEsop's  money,  and 
with  many  salutations  returned  to  the  shelter  of  the 
Inn.  JSsop  filled  two  glasses  with  a  shining  white 
wine  and  pushed  one  to  Peyrolles.  "Drink!"  he 
said,  gruffly. 

Peyrolles  waved  his  yellow  fingers  in  polite  refusal. 
"I  thank  you.  No." 

In  a  second  JEsop  had  sprung  to  his  feet  angrily, 
and,  leaning  over  the  table,  thrust  his  own  twisted 

116 


THE  DUKE'S  MOTTO 

visage  close  to  the  yellow  mask  in  front  of  him. 
"Damn  you!"  he  screamed  —  "damn  you!  are  you 
too  proud  to  drink  with  a  man  who  has  travelled  all 
the  way  from  Madrid  on  your  dirty  business?  Let 
me  tell  you — " 

The  man's  attitude  of  menace,  the  man's  violent 
words,  clearly  alarmed  Monsieur  Peyrolles,  who  in- 
terrupted him  nervously  with  a  voice  quavering  with 
protestation:  "No,  no,  you  need  not.  Of  course, 
not  too  proud.  Delighted." 

^Esop  dropped  into  his  seat  again.  "That's  better. 
Your  health."  He  lifted  the  glass  to  his  lips  as  he 
spoke  and  slowly  drained  it.  There  was  no  sound 
of  solicitation  for  his  companion's  welfare  in  his 
words,  there  was  no  expression  of  pleasure  on  his  face 
as  he  did  so.  He  took  the  good  wine  as  he  took  all 
bright  and  kindly  things,  sourly. 

Peyrolles  hastened  to  follow  the  example  of  his 
pledge.  "Your  health,"  he  said,  and  sipped  diffi- 
dently at  the  wine,  and  then,  rinding  it  agreeable, 
finished  it. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  ^Esop  spoke 
again. 

"Seventeen  years,"  he  murmured,  with  a  chuckle — 
"seventeen  years  since  we  last  met,  on  the  morning, 
as  I  remember,  after  the  little  mishap  in  the  moat  of 
Caylus." 

Peyrolles  shivered,  and  seemed  uneasy,  ^sop  paid 
no  heed  to  his  evident  discomfort. 

"What  a  wild-goose  chase  you  sent  us  all  on,  I  and 
117 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Statlpitz  and  the  others — flying  into  Spain  to  find 
Lagardere  and  the  child.  The  others  hunted  for  him, 
as  I  suppose  you  know,  with  the  results  which,  also, 
I  suppose  you  know." 

Peyrolles  nodded  feebly.  His  yellow  face  was  sev- 
eral tinges  yellower,  his  teeth  seemed  to  threaten  to 
chatter,  and  he  looked  very  unhappy.  His  voice 
was  grave  as  he  spoke:  "Those  who  did  find  him 
were  not  fortunate."  ^Esop  laughed. 

"They  were  fools,"  he  asserted.  "Well,  for  my 
part,  I  said  to  myself  that  the  wise  course  for  me  to 
follow  was  not  to  waste  my  strength,  my  energy,  and 
my  breath  in  chasing  Lagardere  all  over  a  peninsula, 
but  to  wait  quietly  for  Lagardere  to  come  to  me. 
Madrid,  I  reasoned,  is  the  centre  of  Spain;  every  one 
in  Spain  comes  to  Madrid  sooner  or  later;  ergo,  sooner 
or  later  Lagardere  will  come  to  Madrid." 

"Well,  did  he?"  Peyrolles  asked,  forcing  himself 
to  give  tongue,  and  eying  the  hunchback  dubiously. 
He  found  ^Esop  too  humorous  for  his  fancy,  ^sop 
grinned  like  a  monkey  whose  nuts  have  been  filched. 

"No,"  he  said — "no,  not  as  yet,  to  my  knowledge, 
or  he  would  be  dead.  But  I  have  a  conviction  that 
our  paths  will  cross  one  day,  and  when  that  day  comes 
you  may  be  sorry  for  Lagardere  if  your  heart  is  in- 
clined to  be  pitiful." 

The  unpleasant  expression  on  Monsieur  Peyrolles's 
face  whenever  the  name  of  Lagardere  was  mentioned 
now  deepened  sufficiently  to  make  it  quite  plain  that 
he  cherished  no  such  inclination.  ^Esop  went  on: 

til 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"He  proved  himself  a  pretty  good  swordsman  on 
the  night  of  the — shall  we  say  altercation  ? — -and  he 
certainly  succeeded  in  persuading  me  that  there  was 
something  to  be  said  for  those  secret  thrusts  that  I 
treated  too  lightly.  When  I  first  met  Lagardere  I 
knew  all  that  Italy  and  all  that  France  could  teach 
me  of  sword-play.  Now  I  know  all  that  Spain  can 
teach.  I  tell  you,  friend  Peyrolles,  I  think  I  am  the 
best  swordsman  alive." 

Peyrolles  did  not  at  all  like  to  be  hailed  as  friend  in 
this  familar  manner  by  the  hunchback,  but  he  had 
his  reasons  for  mastering  his  feelings,  and  he  showed 
no  signs  of  distaste.  Perhaps  he  had  begun  to  realize 
that  ^sop  would  not  mind  in  the  least  if  he  did  mani- 
fest displeasure. 

"Now,  finding  myself  in  Madrid,"  ^Esop  resumed, 
"and  not  being  inclined  to  follow  the  foolish  example 
of  my  companions,  which  led  each  of  them  in  turn  to 
you  know  what,  I  cast  about  to  make  myself  com- 
fortable in  Madrid.  I  soon  found  a  way.  I  set  up 
an  excellent  bagnio;  I  lured  rich  youths  to  the  al- 
tars and  alcoves  of  play  and  pleasure.  I  made  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  enjoyed  myself  very  much 
incidentally.  It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see 
straight,  smooth,  suave  men  killing  themselves  with 
sweet  sins." 

The  expression  of  his  face  was  so  hideous,  as  he 
spoke  in  his  demoniacal  air  of  triumph  over  those  that 
were  less  afflicted  than  himself,  that  Peyrolles,  who 
was  not  at  all  squeamish,  shuddered  uncomfortably. 

119 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

JE>sop  seemed  for  a  while  to  be  absorbed  in  soothing 
memories,  but  presently  he  made  an  end  of  rubbing 
his  hands  together  silently,  and  resumed  his  speech: 

"It  was  all  in  the  way  of  my  ancient  and  honorable 
trade  to  have  no  small  traffic  with  pretty  women 
and  the  friends  of  pretty  women  and  the  parents  of 
pretty  women.  And  it  was  this  part  of  my  trade 
which  put  the  idea  into  my  head  which  prompted 
me  to  write  to  you,  friend  Peyrolles,  and  which  per- 
suaded me  to  uproot  myself  from  my  comfortable 
house  and  my  responsive  doxies,  and  jog  all  the  way 
from  Madrid  to  Paris." 

The  sense  of  what  he  had  sacrificed  in  making  the 
journey  seemed  suddenly  to  gall  him,  for  he  glared 
ferociously  at  Peyrolles,  and  said,  sharply:  "Here 
have  I  been  talking  myself  dry  while  you  sit  mum- 
chance.  Tell  me  some  tale  for  a  change.  Why  in  the 
name  of  the  ancient  devil  did  Nevers's  widow  marry 
Gonzague?" 

Peyrolles  laughed  feebly.     "Love,  I  suppose." 

^Esop  waved  the  suggestion  away.  "Don't  talk 
like  a  fool.  I  expect  old  Caylus  made  her.  He  was 
a  grim  old  chip,  after  my  own  heart,  and  our  widow 
had  no  friends.  Oh  yes;  I  expect  daddy  Caylus 
made  her  marry  Gonzague.  What  a  joke! — what  an 
exquisite  joke!" 

Peyrolles  replied,  with  attempted  dignity:  "You 
didn't  travel  all  the  way  from  Madrid  to  talk  about 
my  master's  marriage,  I  suppose." 

In  a  moment  ^sop's  manner  became  ferocious  again. 
120 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Again  he  thrust  forward  his  seamed,  malicious  face, 
and  again  the  yellow  mask  drew  back  from  it.  "You 
are  right,  I  did  not.  I  came  because  I  am  tired  of 
Spain,  because  I  lust  for  Paris,  because  I  desire  to 
enter  the  service  of  his  Highness  Prince  Louis  de 
Gonzague,  to  whom  I  am  about  to  render  a  very 
great  service." 

Peyrolles  looked  at  him  thoughtfully,  the  yellow 
mask  wrinkled  with  dubiety.  "Are  you  serious  about 
this  service?"  he  asked.  "Can  you  really  perform 
what  your  letter  seemed  to  promise  ?" 

"I  should  not  have  travelled  all  this  way  if  I  did 
not  know  what  I  was  about,"  ^Esop  growled.  "I 
think  it  matters  little  if  I  have  lost  Lagardere  if  I 
have  found  the  daughter  of  Nevers." 

Peyrolles  was  thoroughly  interested,  and  leaned 
eagerly  across  the  table.  "Then  you  think  you  have 
found  her?" 

-^sop  grinned  at  him  maliciously.  "As  good  as 
found  her.  I  have  found  a  girl  who  may  be — come, 
let's  put  a  bold  face  on  it  and  say  must  be — Nevers's 
daughter.  I  told  you  so  much  in  my  letter." 

Peyrolles  now  drew  back  again  with  a  cautious 
look  on  his  face  as  he  answered,  cautiously:  "My 
master,  Prince  Gonzague,  must  be  satisfied.  Where 
is  this  girl?" 

^sop  continued:  "Here.  I  found  her  in  Madrid, 
the  dancing-girl  of  a  band  of  gypsies.  She  is  the  right 
age.  The  girl  is  clever,  she  is  comely,  her  hair  is  of 
the  Nevers  shade,  her  color  of  the  Nevers  tint.  She 

121 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

is,  by  good-fortune,  still  chaste,  for  when  I  first  began 
to  think  of  this  scheme  the  minx  was  little  more 
than  a  child,  and  the  gypsies,  who  were  willing  to  do 
my  bidding,  kept  her  clean  for  my  need.  Oh,  she 
has  been  well  prepared,  I  promise  you!  She  has  been 
taught  to  believe  that  she  was  stolen  from  her  parents 
in  her  babyhood,  and  will  meet  any  fable  half-way. 
She  will  make  a  most  presentable  heiress  to  the  gen- 
tleman we  killed  at  Caylus — " 

Peyrolles  agitated  his  yellow  hands  deprecatingly. 
He  did  not  like  the  revival  of  unpleasant  memories. 
"My  good  friend!"  he  protested. 

-£2sop  eyed  him  with  disdain.  "Well,  we  did  kill 
him,  didn't  we?  You  don't  want  to  pretend  that 
he's  alive  now,  after  that  jab  in  the  back  your  master 
gave  him  fifteen  years  ago?" 

Peyrolles  wriggled  on  his  chair  in  an  agony  of 
discomfort.  "Hush,  for  Heaven's  sake!  Don't  talk 
like  that!" 

JEsop  slapped  the  table  till  the  glasses  rang.  "I'll 
talk  as  I  please." 

Peyrolles  saw  it  was  useless  to  argue  with  the 
hunchback,  and  submitted.  "Yes,  yes;  but  let  by- 
gones be  bygones.  About  this  girl?" 

JEsop  resumed  his  narrative.  "I  sent  her  and  her 
tribe  Franceward  from  Madrid.  I  didn't  accom- 
pany them,  for  I'm  not  fond  of  companionship;  but 
I  told  them  to  wait  me  here,  and  here  they  are. 
What  place  could  be  more  excellent?  All  sorts  of 
vagabonds  come  hither  from  all  parts  of  the  world 

122 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

at  fair -time.  How  natural  that  your  admirable 
master  should  amuse  his  leisure  by  visiting  the 
fair,  and  in  so  diverting  himself  be  struck  by  a 
beautiful  gypsy  girl's  resemblance  to  the  features  of 
his  dear  dead  friend!  It  is  all  a  romance,  friend 
Peyrolles,  and  a  very  good  romance.  And  I,  ^Esop, 
made  it." 

The  hunchback  struck  an  attitude  as  he  spoke,  and 
strove  to  twist  his  evil  countenance  into  a  look  of 
inspiration. 

Peyrolles  was  all  eagerness  now.  "Let  me  see  the 
girl,"  he  pleaded. 

^Esop  shook  his  head.  "By-and-by.  It  is  under- 
stood that  if  Gonzague  accepts  the  girl  as  Nevers's 
child  he  takes  me  into  his  service  in  Paris.  Eh?" 

Peyrolles  nodded.     "That  is  understood." 

^Esop  yawned  on  the  conclusion  of  the  bargain. 
"Curse  me  if  I  see  why  he  wants  the  child  when  he 
has  got  the  mother." 

Peyrolles  again  neared,  and  spoke  with  a  lowered 
voice:  "I  can  be  frank  with  you,  master  ^Esop  ?" 

"It's  the  best  plan,"  ALsop  growled. 


XII 

FLORA 

PEYROLLES  prepared  to  be  frank.     He  put  up 
his  hand,  and  whispered  behind  it  cautiously: 
"The  married  life  of  the  Prince  de  Gonzague  and 
the  widow  of  Nevers  has  not  been  ideally  happy." 

^Esop  grinned  at  him  in  derision.  "You  surprise 
me!"  he  commented,  ironically. 

Peyrolles  went  on:  "The  marriage  is  only  a  mar- 
riage in  name.  What  arguments  succeeded  in  per- 
suading so  young  a  widow  to  marry  again  so  soon  I 
do  not,  of  course,  know."  He  paused  for  a  moment 
and  frowned  a  little,  for  JEsop,  though  saying  nothing, 
was  lolling  out  his  tongue  at  him  mockingly.  Then 
he  went  on,  with  a  somewhat  ruffled  manner:  "At 
all  events,  whatever  the  arguments  were,  they  suc- 
ceeded, and  the  Duchess  de  Nevers  became  the  Prin- 
cess de  Gonzague.  After  the  ceremony  the  Princess 
de  Gonzague  told  her  husband  that  she  lived  only 
in  the  hope  of  recovering  her  child,  and  that  she 
would  kill  herself  if  she  were  not  left  in  peace." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  JEsop  spurred  him  on: 
"Well,  go  on,  go  on." 

124 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  cleared  his  throat.  Being  frank  was 
neither  habitual  nor  pleasant.  "As  the  princess 
had  absolute  control  of  the  wealth  of  her  dead 
husband,  the  Duke  de  Nevers,  and  as  she  promised 
to  allow  my  master  the  use  of  her  fortune  as  long 
as  he—  " 

Again  he  paused,  and  JEsop  interpolated:  "Left 
her  in  peace." 

Peyrolles  accepted  the  suggestion.  "Exactly — my 
master,  who  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  accepted  the  sit- 
uation. Since  that  day  they  seldom  meet,  seldom 
speak.  The  princess  always  wears  mourning —  " 

^sop  shivered.     "Cheerful  spouse." 

Peyrolles  went  on:  "While  the  Prince  de  Gonzague 
lives  a  bright  life,  and  sets  the  mode  in  wit,  dress, 
vice — in  every  way  the  perfect  gentleman,  and  now 
the  favorite  companion  and  friend  of  his  melancholy 
majesty,  whose  natural  sadness  at  the  loss  of  the  great 
cardinal  he  does  his  best  to  alleviate." 

JEsop  laughed  mockingly  as  Peyrolles  mouthed  his 
approvals.  "Lucky  groom.  But  if  he  can  spend 
the  money,  why  does  he  want  the  girl?" 

Peyrolles  answered,  promptly:  "To  please  the  prin- 
cess, and  prove  himself  the  devoted  husband." 

JEsop  was  persistent:  "What  is  the  real  reason?" 

Peyrolles,  with  a  grimace,  again  consented  to  be 
frank:  "As  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers  is  not  proved 
to  be  dead,  the  law  assumes  her  to  be  alive,  and  it 
is  as  the  guardian  of  this  impalpable  young  person 
that  my  dear  master  handles  the  revenues  of  Nevers. 

125 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

If  she   were   certainly  dead,  my  master  would  in- 
herit." 

JEsop  still  required  information.  "Then  why  the 
devil  does  he  want  to  prove  that  she  lives?" 

There  was  again  a  touch  of  condescension  in  Pey- 
rolles's  manner:  "You  are  not  so  keen  as  you  think, 
good  ^Esop.  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers,  recovered,  re- 
stored to  her  mother's  arms,  the  recognized  heiress 
of  so  much  wealth,  might  seem  to  be  a  very  lucky 
young  woman.  But  even  lucky  young  women  are 
not  immortal." 

yKsop  chuckled.  "Oh,  oh,  oh!  If  the  lost-and- 
found  young  lady  were  to  die  soon  after  her  recovery 
the  good  Louis  de  Gonzague  would  inherit  without 
further  question.  I  fear  my  little  gypsy  is  not  prom- 
ised a  long  life." 

Peyrolles  smiled  sourly.  "Let  me  see  your  little 
gypsy." 

Msop  hesitated  for  a  moment.  It  evidently  went 
against  his  grain  to  oblige  Peyrolles — or,  for  that 
matter,  any  man,  in  anything;  but  in  this  instance 
to  oblige  served  his  own  turn.  He  rose,  and,  passing 
the  door  of  the  Inn,  crossed  the  space  of  common 
land  to  where  the  caravan  stood,  a  deserted  monu- 
ment of  green  and  red. 

The  hunchback  tapped  at  the  door  and  whispered 
through  the  lock:  "Are  you  there,  Flora?" 

A  woman's  voice  answered  from  within — a  young 
voice,  a  sweet  voice,  a  slightly  impatient  voice. 
"Yes,"  it  said. 

126 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Come  out,"  ^Esop  commanded,  curtly. 

Then  the  gaudy  door  of  the  caravan  yielded,  and 
a  pretty  gypsy  girl  appeared  in  the  opening.  She 
was  dark -haired,  she  was  bright -eyed,  she  was 
warmly  colored.  She  seemed  to  be  about  eighteen 
years  of  age,  but  her  figure  already  had  a  rich  Spanish 
fulness  and  her  carriage  was  swaying  and  voluptuous. 
Most  men  would  have  been  glad  enough  to  stand  for 
a  while  in  adoration  of  so  pleasing  a  picture,  but  JEsop 
was  not  as  most  men.  His  attitude  to  women  when 
they  concerned  him  personally  was  not  of  adoration. 
In  this  case  the  girl  did  not  concern  him  personally, 
and  he  had  no  interest  in  her  youth  or  her  charms 
save  in  so  far  as  they  might  serve  the  business  he 
had  in  hand. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  a  little  frown,  and 
spoke  with  a  little  note  of  fretfulness  in  her  voice: 
"So  you  have  come  at  last.  I  have  been  so  tired  of 
waiting  for  you,  mewed  up  in  there." 

JE,sop  answered  her,  roughly:  "That's  my  business. 
Here  is  a  gentleman  who  wants  to  speak  with  you." 

As  he  spoke  he  beckoned  to  Peyrolles,  who  rose 
from  his  seat  and  moved  with  what  he  considered 
to  be  dignity  towards  the  pair,  making  great  play 
of  cane,  great  play  of  handkerchief,  great  play  of 
jewelled-hilted  sword  flapping  against  neatly  stock- 
inged leg. 

He  saluted  the  gypsy  in  what  he  conceived  to  be 
the  grand  manner.  "Can  you  tell  fortunes,  pretty 
one?" 

127 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

The  gypsy  laughed,  and  showed  good  teeth  as  she 
did  so.  "Surely,  on  the  palm  or  with  the  cards — all 
ways." 

"Can  you  tell  your  own  fortune?"  Peyrolles  ques- 
tioned, with  a  faint  tinge  of  malice  in  the  words. 

Flora  laughed  again,  and  answered,  unhesitatingly: 
"To  dance  my  way  through  the  world,  to  enjoy  my- 
self as  much  as  I  can  in  the  sunshine,  to  please  pretty 
gentlemen,  to  have  money  to  spend,  to  wear  fine 
clothes  and  do  nice  things  and  enjoy  myself,  to  laugh 
often  and  cry  little.  That  is  my  fortune,  I  hope." 

Peyrolles  shook  his  head  and  looked  very  wise. 
"Perhaps  I  can  tell  you  a  better  fortune." 

Flora  was  impressed  by  the  manner  of  the  grand 
gentleman,  for  to  her  he  seemed  a  grand  gentleman. 
"Tell  me,  quick!"  she  entreated. 

Peyrolles  condescended  to  explain:  "Seventeen 
years  ago  a  girl  of  noble  birth,  one  year  old,  was 
stolen  from  her  mother  and  given  to  gypsies." 

Flora,  listening,  counted  on  her  fingers:  "Seven- 
teen, one,  eighteen — why,  just  my  age." 

Peyrolles  approved.  "You  are  hearing  the  voice 
of  Nature — excellent." 

JEsop  put  in  his  word:  "That  mother  has  been 
looking  for  her  child  ever  since." 

Peyrolles  summed  up  the  situation  with  a  malign 
smile:  "We  believe  we  have  found  her." 

Flora  began  to  catch  the  drift  of  the  conversation, 
and  was  eager  for  more  knowledge.  "Go  on — go  on! 
I  always  dreamed  of  being  a  great  lady." 

128 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  raised  a  chastening  finger.  "Patience, 
child,  patience.  The  prince,  my  master,  honors  the 
fair  to-day  in  company  with  a  most  exalted  personage. 
I  will  bring  him  here  to  see  you  dance.  If  he  recog- 
nizes you,  your  fortune  is  made." 

Flora  questioned,  cunningly:  "How  can  he  recog- 
nize a  child  of  one?" 

Peyrolles  lifted  to  his  eyes  the  elaborately  laced 
kerchief  he  had  been  carrying  in  his  right  hand,  and 
appeared  to  be  a  prey  to  violent  emotions.  "Your 
father  was  his  dearest  friend,"  he  murmured,  in  a 
tearful  voice.  "He  would  see  his  features  in  you." 

Flora  clapped  her  hands.     "I  hope  he  will." 

^Esop,  looking  cynically  from  the  girl  to  the  man 
and  from  the  man  to  the  girl,  commented,  dryly: 
"I  think  he  will." 

Peyrolles  considered  the  interview  had  lasted  long 
enough.  He  signed  to  the  girl  to  retire  with  the  air 
of  a  grandee  dismissing  some  vassal.  "Enough.  Re- 
tire to  your  van  till  I  come  for  you." 

Flora  pouted  and  pleaded:  "Don't  be  long.  I'm 
tired  of  being  in  there." 

^sop  snapped  at  her,  sharply:  "Do  as  you  are  told. 
You  are  not  a  princess  yet." 

The  girl  frowned,  the  girl's  eyes  flashed,  but  her 
acquaintance  with  ^Esop  had  given  her  the  thoroughly 
justifiable  impression  that  he  was  a  man  whom  it 
was  better  to  obey,  and  she  retired  into  the  caravan 
and  shut  the  green-and-red  door  with  a  bang  behind 
her. 

9  129 

\ 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

JEsop  turned  with  a  questioning  grin  to  Peyrolles. 
"Well?"  he  said. 

Peyrolles  looked  approval.  "I  think  she'll  do. 
I'll  go  and  find  the  prince  at  once." 

"I  will  go  a  little  way  with  you,"  ^Esop  said,  more 
perhaps  because  he  thought  his  company  might  ex- 
asperate the  sham  grand  man  than  for  any  other 
reason.  He  knew  Peyrolles  would  think  it  unbe- 
coming his  dignity  to  be  seen  in  close  companionship 
with  the  shabbily  habited  hunchback,  hence  his  dis- 
play of  friendship.  As  he  linked  his  black  arm  in  the 
yellow-satin  arm  of  Peyrolles,  he  added:  "I  have 
taken  every  care  to  make  our  tale  seem  plausible. 
The  gypsies  will  swear  that  they  stole  her  seventeen 
years  ago." 

Peyrolles  nodded,  looking  askance  at  him,  and 
wishing  that  destiny  had  not  compelled  him  to  make 
use  of  such  an  over-familiar  agent,  and  the  precious 
pair  went  over  the  bridge  together  and  disappeared 
from  the  neighborhood  of  the  little  Inn,  and  the  spirit 
of  solitude  seemed  again  to  brood  over  the  locality. 
But  it  was  not  suffered  to  brood  for  very  long.  As 
soon  as  the  voices  and  the  footsteps  of  Peyrolles  and 
^Esop  were  no  longer  audible,  the  green-and-red  door 
of  the  caravan  was  again  cautiously  opened,  and 
cautiously  the  head  of  the  pretty  gypsy  girl  was 
thrust  out  into  the  air.  When  she  saw  that  the 
pair  had  disappeared,  she  ran  lightly  down  the  steps 
of  the  caravan,  and,  crossing  the  common,  paused 
under  the  windows  of  the  Inn,  where  she  began  to 

130 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

sing  in  a  sweet,  rich  voice   a  verse  of  a  Spanish 
gypsy  song: 

"Come  to  the  window,  dear; 

Listen  and  lean  while  I  say 
A  Romany  word  in  your  ear, 
And  whistle  your  heart  away." 


XIII 

CONFIDENCES 

BEFORE  she  had  finished  the  last  line  of  the 
verse  the  curtains  of  a  window  in  the  second 
story  of  the  Inn  parted  and  another  young  girl 
showed  herself  through  the  lattice.  This  girl  was 
dark-haired  like  the  gypsy,  and  bright -eyed  like  the 
gypsy,  and,  like  the  gypsy,  she  seemed  to  be  some 
eighteen  years  of  age,  but  beyond  these  obvious  feat- 
ures resemblance  ceased.  The  girl  who  looked  down 
from  the  window  of  the  Inn  was  of  a  slenderer  shape 
than  the  gypsy,  of  a  more  delicate  complexion,  of  a 
grace  and  bearing  that  suggested  different  breeding 
and  another  race  than  that  of  the  more  exuberant 
Gitana.  The  girl  at  the  window  spoke  in  a  clear, 
sweet  voice  to  the  singer:  "I  thought  it  must  be  you, 
Flora." 

Flora  called  back  to  her:    "Come  down  to  me, 
Gabrielle." 

The  girl  Gabrielle  shook  her  head.     "Henri  does 
not  wish  me  to  go  abroad  while  he  is  absent." 

Flora  made  a  little  face.     "Our  friends  do  keep  us 
prisoners.     There  is  not  a  soul  about." 

132 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Gabrielle  smiled  and  consented.  "I  will  come  for 
a  moment." 

She  withdrew  from  the  window,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes she  appeared  at  the  Inn  door  and  joined  her 
impatient  friend.  Flora  kissed  her  affectionately, 
and  asked,  between  kisses:  "Are  you  not  angry  with 
Henri  for  keeping  you  thus  caged?" 

Gabrielle  smiled  an  amused  denial.  "How  could 
I  be  angry  with  Henri  ?  He  has  good  reasons  for 
his  deeds.  We  are  in  great  danger.  We  have  ene- 
mies." 

Flora  stared  at  her  wild-eyed.  "Who  are  your  en- 
emies?" 

Gabrielle  looked  about  her,  as  if  to  be  assured  that 
no  one  was  within  hearing,  and  then  whispered  into 
Flora's  ear:  "Henri  will  never  tell  me,  but  they  hunt 
us  down.  Ever  since  I  was  a  child  we  have  fled 
from  place  to  place,  hiding.  I  have  often  been  roused 
at  night  by  clash  of  swords  and  Henri's  voice,  crying: 
'I  am  here!'  But  his  sword  is  always  the  strongest, 
and  we  have  always  escaped." 

"Surely  you  will  be  safe  in  Paris,"  Flora  said. 

Gabrielle  sighed.  "Why,  it  seems  we  dare  not  en- 
ter Paris  yet.  When  we  left  Madrid  in  your  com- 
pany Henri  told  me  we  were  journeying  to  Paris, 
but  now  we  linger  here  outside  the  walls  until  Henri 
has  seen  some  one — I  know  not  who;  and  while  we 
linger  here  I  must  keep  in-doors." 

Flora  looked  mischievous.  "  Perhaps  Henri  is  jeal- 
ous, and  tells  this  tale  to  keep  you  to  himself." 

133 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gabrielle  sighed  again.  "Henri  only  thinks  of  me 
as  a  child." 

Flora  still  was  mischievous.  "But  you  know  you 
are  not  his  child,  and  I  am  sure  you  do  not  think  of 
him  as  a  father." 

Gabrielle  turned  upon  her  friend  with  an  air  of 
dainty  imperiousness.  "Flora,  Flora,  you  may  be 
a  witch,  but  there  are  some  thoughts  of  mine  you 
must  not  presume  to  read." 

Flora  laughed.  "You  command  like  a  great  lady. 
'Must  not,'  indeed,  and  'presume'!  Let  me  tell  you, 
pretty  Gabrielle,  that  I  am  the  great  lady  here." 

Gabrielle  was  instantly  winning  and  tender  again. 
"You  are  my  sweet  friend,  and  I  did  not  mean  to 
command  you." 

Flora  laughed  good-humoredly.  "You  should  have 
seen  your  air  of  greatness.  But  I  am  speaking  seri- 
ously. I  believe  I  am  the  long-lost  daughter  of  a 
great  lord." 

Gabrielle  stared,  amazed.  "Really,  Flora,  really  ? 
Are  you  in  earnest?  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

Flora  looked  like  a  gypsy  sphinx.  "Oh,  but  I  may 
not.  I  should  not  have  spoken  of  it  at  all,  but  I  am 
so  mad  and  merry  at  the  good  news  that  out  it 
slipped." 

Gabrielle  softly  patted  her  cheek.  "I  am  glad  of 
anything  that  makes  you  happy." 

Flora  tried  to  look  magnificent.  "Do  not  you 
envy  me?  Would  not  you  like  to  be  a  great  lady, 
too?  I  am  afraid  you  look  more  like  it  than  I  do." 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gabrielle  spoke  again  in  a  whisper:  "I  will  tell 
you  my  secret  in  return  for  yours.  So  long  as  I 
can  be  by  Henri's  side  I  envy  no  one — ask  nothing 
better  of  fortune." 

Flora  smiled  knowingly.  "Do  you  call  that  a 
secret?  I  have  known  that  ever  since  I  first  saw 
you  look  at  him." 

Gabrielle  looked  pained.  "Am  I  so  immodest  a 
minion?" 

Flora  protested:  "No,  no.  But  your  eyes  are 
traitors  and  tell  me  tales." 

"I  must  be  wary,"  Gabrielle  said,  "that  they 
tell  no  tales  to — to  others." 

Flora  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders.  ' '  Lovers  are 
droll.  A  maid  may  love  a  man,  and  a  man  may 
love  a  maid,  and  neither  know  that  the  other  is  sick 
of  the  same  pip,  poor  fowls." 

"What  do  you  mean,  witch?"  Gabrielle  questioned. 

Flora  twirled  a  pirouette  before  she  replied:  "Noth- 
ing— less  than  nothing.  I  dance  here  by-and-by  to 
please  a  grandee.  Will  you  peep  through  your  lattice  ?" 

"Perhaps,"  Gabrielle  answered,  cautiously.  Then 
she  gave  a  little  start.  "Some  one  is  coming,"  she 
said,  and,  indeed,  some  one  was  coming.  A  man  had 
just  mounted  the  bridge  from  the  Neuilly  road  and 
stood  there  for  an  instant  surveying  the  two  girls. 
He  was  a  modish  young  gentleman,  very  splendidly 
attired,  who  carried  himself  with  a  dainty  insolence, 
and  he  now  came  slowly  towards  the  girls  with  an 
amiable  salutation. 

135 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Exquisite  ladies,"  he  said,  "I  give  you  good- 
day." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  the  sight  of  his  figure 
Gabrielle  had  disappeared  into  the  Inn  as  quickly 
as  ever  rabbit  disappeared  into  its  hole.  Flora  had 
no  less  nimbly  run  down  to  the  caravan;  but  when 
she  reached  it  she  paused  on  the  first  step,  attracted 
by  the  appearance  of  the  handsomely  dressed  young 
gentleman,  who  appealed  to  her  earnestly:  "Why  do 
you  scatter  so  rashly  ?  I  should  be  delighted  to  talk 
with  you." 

Flora  mocked  him:  "Perhaps  we  do  not  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

The  new-comer  would  not  admit  the  possibility. 
"Impossible,"  he  protested.  "Let  me  present  my- 
self. I  am  the  Marquis  de  Chavernay.  I  am  very 
diverting.  I  can  make  love  to  more  ladies  at  the 
same  time  than  any  gentleman  of  my  age  at  court." 

Flora  laughed.  "Amiable  accomplishment,"  she 
said,  mockingly;  but  while  she  mocked  her  quick 
eyes  were  carefully  noting  every  particular  of  the 
stranger's  appearance,  from  the  exquisite  laces  at 
his  throat  and  wrists  to  the  jewels  on  his  fingers, 
and  finding  all  very  much  to  her  taste,  and  the  ap- 
propriate adornments  for  a  young  gentleman  of  so 
gallant  a  carriage  and  so  pleasantly  impertinent  a 
face.  She  had  never  cast  her  eyes  upon  any  youth 
in  Madrid  that  had  captivated  her  fancy  so  mightily, 
and  she  thought  to  herself  that  when  the  time  came 
for  her  to  have  a  lover  here  was  the  very  lover  she 

136 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

would  choose.  And  then  she  remembered,  with  a 
fluttering  heart,  that  she  was  likely  to  become  a  great 
lady  and  the  peer  of  this  fascinating  dandiprat.  As 
for  him,  he  returned  her  gaze  with  a  bold  stare  of 
approval. 

The  Marquis  de  Chavernay  agitated  his  dainty 
hands  in  delicate  assurance.  "Agreeable,  believe 
me,"  he  asserted;  and  then  asked:  "Why  has  your 
sister  nymph  retreated  from  the  field?  I  could  en- 
tertain the  pair  of  you." 

As  Flora's  only  answer  to  this  assurance  was  a 
further,  though  perhaps  not  very  earnest,  effort  to 
enter  the  caravan,  he  restrained  her  with  appealing 
voice  and  gesture:  "Please  do  not  go." 

Flora  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "Why  should  I 
stay,  pretty  gentleman?" 

The  little  marquis  made  her  a  bow.  "Because 
you  can  do  me  a  service,  pretty  lady.  Is  there  an 
inn  hereabouts  at  the  sign  of  the  Three  Graces?" 

Flora  was  curious.     "Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

The  little  marquis  wore  a  mysterious  look,  as  if  all 
the  political  secrets  of  the  period  were  shut  in  his 
heart  or  head,  and  he  lowered  his  voice  as  he  an- 
swered: "Because  I  am  commissioned  to  ascertain  its 
whereabouts  for  a  friend." 

Flora  laughed,  and  pointed  to  the  Inn  into  which 
Gabrielle  had  retreated.  "You  have  not  far  to  seek 
to  oblige  your  friend,"  she  said.  "There  it  stands 
behind  you." 

Chavernay  swung  round  on  his  heels,  and  surveyed 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  modest  little  hostelry  with  amusement.  "The 
shelter  of  the  fugitive  nymph.  Oh,  now  I  under- 
stand my  friend's  anxiety!  Pretty  child,  my  duty 
forces  me  to  leave  you  when  my  inclination  would 
fling  me  into  your  arms.  If  I  may  wait  upon  you 
later—" 

This  time  Flora  had  evidently  made  up  her  mind 
that  it  would  be  indiscreet  of  her  further  to  prolong 
the  colloquy.  She  dipped  him  a  courtesy,  half  mock- 
ing and  half  respectful,  wished  him  good-day,  and, 
diving  into  the  caravan,  slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 
The  little  marquis  seemed  at  first  astonished  at  the 
austerity  of  the  gypsy  girl. 

"Dido  retires  to  her  cave,"  he  thought  to  himself. 
"Shall  ^neas  pursue?"  He  made  for  a  moment 
as  if  to  advance  and  force  his  company  upon  the 
seeming  reluctant  damsel.  Then  his  volatile  thoughts 
flickered  back  to  the  girl  who  had  entered  the  Inn. 
"Methinks,"  he  reflected,  "I  would  as  soon  play 
Paris  to  yonder  Helen.  But  I  must  not  keep  his 
Majesty  waiting.  No  wonder  he  seeks  the  Inn  of 
the  Three  Graces."  For  it  was  plain  to  the  little 
gentleman  that  he  had  now  discovered  the  reason 
why  his  august  master  and  sovereign  had  done  him 
the  honor  to  select  him  as  scout  to  find  out  the 
whereabouts  of  the  unknown  tavern. 


XIV 
"i  AM  HERE!" 

PLEASED  at  the  success  of  his  mission,  although 
disappointed  at  not  having  made  further  prog- 
ress in  the  graces  of  the  two  girls  whom  he  was 
pleased  to  regard  as  shepherdesses,  he  cast  his  eye 
first  to  the  shut  door  of  the  caravan  and  then  to  the 
silent  face  of  the  tavern,  and  was  about  to  rejoin  his 
illustrious  master  with  all  speed  when  his  attention 
was  arrested  by  a  singular  figure  advancing  towards 
him  from  the  Paris  road.  This  person  was  tall  and 
thin  and  bony,  with  a  weakly  amiable  face  fringed 
with  flaxen  hair,  and  timid  eyes  that  blinked  under 
pink  eyelids.  He  was  dressed  in  black  clothes  of 
an  extreme  shabbiness,  and  the  only  distinguishing 
feature  of  his  appearance  was  a  particularly  long 
and  formidable  sword  that  flapped  against  his  calves. 
The  fellow  was  at  once  so  fantastic  and  so  ridiculous 
that  Chavernay,  whose  sense  of  humor  was  always 
lively,  regarded  him  with  much  curiosity  and  at  the 
same  time  with  affected  dismay. 

"Is  this  ogre,"  he  wondered  to  himself,  "one  of 
the  protecting  giants  who  guard  the  fair  nymphs  of 

139 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

this  place,  or  is  he  rather  some  cruel  guardian  ap- 
pointed by  the  enchanter,  who  denies  them  inter- 
course with  agreeable  mankind?"  Thus  Chavernay 
mused,  affecting  the  fancies  of  some  fashionable 
romance;  and  then,  finding  that  his  attentions  ap- 
peared strangely  to  embarrass  the  angular  individ- 
ual in  black,  he  turned  on  his  heels  to  make  for 
the  bridge,  and  again  came  to  a  halt,  for  on  the 
bridge  appeared  another  figure  as  grotesque  as  the 
first-comer,  but  grotesque  in  a  wholly  different  man- 
ner. 

This  second  stranger  was  as  burly  as  the  first  was 
lean,  and  as  gaudy  in  his  apparel  as  the  first  was 
simple.  The  petals  of  the  iris,  the  plumes  of  the 
peacock  seemed  to  have  been  pillaged  by  him  for 
the  colors  that  made  up  his  variegated  wardrobe.  A 
purple  pourpoint,  crimson  breeches,  an  amber-colored 
cloak,  and  a  huge  hat  with  a  blue  feather  set  off  a 
figure  of  extravagantly  martial  presence.  Where  the 
face  of  the  first-comer  was  pale,  insignificant,  and 
timid,  that  of  the  second-comer  was  ruddy,  assertive, 
and  bold.  The  only  point  in  common  with  his  prede- 
cessor was  that  he,  too,  swung  at  his  side  a  monstrous 
rapier.  The  sight  of  this  whimsical  stranger  was  too 
much  for  Chavernay 's  self-restraint,  and  he  burst 
into  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter,  which  he  made  no  effort 
to  control. 

"What  a  scarecrow!"  he  muttered,  looking  back 
at  the  individual  in  black.  "What  a  gorgon!"  he  con- 
tinued, as  his  eyes  travelled  to  the  man  in  motley. 

140 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Gog  and  Magog,  by  Heavens!"  he  commented,  as  he 
surveyed  the  astonishing  pair. 

Then,  still  laughing,  he  ran  across  the  bridge  and 
left  the  two  objects  of  his  mirth  glaring  after  him  in 
indignation.  Indeed,  so  indignant  were  they,  and  so 
steadily  did  they  keep  their  angry  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  retreating  figure  of  the  marquis,  while  each  con- 
tinued his  original  course  of  progression,  that  the 
two  men,  heedless  of  each  other,  ran  into  each  other 
with  an  awkward  thump  that  recalled  to  each  of 
them  the  fact  that  there  were  other  persons  in  the 
world  as  well  as  an  impertinent  gentleman  with 
nimble  heels.  The  man  in  black  and  the  man  in 
many  colors  each  clapped  a  hand  to  a  sword-hilt, 
only  to  withdraw  it  instantly  and  extend  it  in  sign 
of  amicable  greeting. 

"Passepoil!"  cried  the  man  in  many  colors. 

"Cocardasse!"  cried  the  man  in  black. 

"To  my  arms,  brother,  to  my  arms!"  cried  Cocar- 
dasse, and  in  a  moment  the  amazing  pair  were  clasped 
in  each  other's  embrace. 

"  Is  it  really  you  ?"  said  Cocardasse,  when  he  thought 
the  embrace  had  lasted  long  enough,  holding  Passe- 
poil firmly  by  the  shoulders  and  gazing  fixedly  into, 
his  pale,  pathetic  face. 

Passepoil  nodded.  "Truly.  What  red  star  guides 
you  to  Paris?" 

Cocardasse  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "I  had 
a  letter." 

Passepoil  whispered  in  reply:   "So  had  I." 
141 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse  amplified:  "My  letter  told  me  to  be 
outside  the  Inn  of  the  Three  Graces,  near  Neuilly,  on 
a  certain  day — this  day — to  serve  the  Prince  of  Gon- 
zague." 

Passepoil  nodded  again.     "So  did  mine." 

Cocardasse  continued:  "Mine  enclosed  a  draft  on 
the  Bank  of  Marseilles  to  pay  expenses." 

Passepoil  noted  a  point  of  difference:  "Mine  was 
on  the  Bank  of  Calais." 

"I  suppose  Gonzague  wants  all  that  are  left  of  us," 
Cocardasse  said,  thoughtfully. 

Passepoil  sighed  significantly.  "There  aren't 
many." 

Cocardasse  looked  as  gloomy  as  was  possible  for 
one  of  his  rubicund  countenance  and  jolly  bearing. 
"Lagardere  has  kept  his  word." 

"Staupitz  was  killed  at  Seville,"  Passepoil  mur- 
mured, as  one  who  begins  a  catalogue  of  disasters. 

Cocardasse  continued:  "Faenza  was  killed  at  Bur- 
gos." 

Passepoil  went  on:  "Saldagno  at  Toledo." 

Cocardasse  took  up  the  tale:  "Pinto  at  Valla- 
dolid." 

Passepoil  concluded  the  catalogue:  "Joel  at  Gre- 
nada, Pepe  at  Cordova." 

"All  with  the  same  wound,"  Cocardasse  comment- 
ed, with  a  curious  solemnity  in  his  habitually  jovial 
voice. 

Passepoil  added,  lugubriously:  "The  thrust  between 
the  eyes." 

142 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Cocardasse  summed  up,  significantly:  "The  thrust 
of  Nevers." 

The  pair  were  silent  for  an  instant,  looking  at  each 
other  with  something  like  dismay  upon  their  faces, 
and  their  minds  were  evidently  busy  with  old  days 
and  old  dangers. 

Passepoil  broke  the  silence.  "They  didn't  make 
much  by  their  blood-money." 

"Yes,"  said  Cocardasse;  "but  we,  who  refused  to 
hunt  Lagardere,  we  are  alive." 

Passepoil  cast  a  melancholy  glance  over  his  own 
dingy  habiliments  and  then  over  the  garments  of 
Cocardasse,  garments  which,  although  glowing  enough 
in  color,  were  over-darned  and  over-patched  to  sug- 
gest opulence.  "In  a  manner,"  he  said,  dryly. 

Cocardasse  drew  himself  up  proudly  and  slapped 
his  chest.  "Poor  but  honest." 

Passepoil  allowed  a  faint  smile,  expressive  of  satis- 
faction, to  steal  over  his  melancholy  countenance. 
"Thank  Heaven,  in  Paris  we  can't  meet  Lagardere." 

Cocardasse  appeared  plainly  to  share  the  pleasure 
of  his  old  friend.  "An  exile  dare  not  return,"  he 
said,  emphatically,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  feels 
sure  of  himself  and  of  his  words.  But  it  is  the  way 
of  destiny  very  often,  even  when  a  man  is  surest  of 
himself  and  surest  of  his  words,  to  interpose  some 
disturbing  factor  in  his  confident  calculations,  to 
make  some  unexpected  move  upon  the  chess-board 
of  existence,  which  altogether  baffles  his  plans  and 
ruins  his  hopes.  So  many  people  had  crossed  the 

143 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

bridge  that  morning  that  it  really  seemed  little  less 
than  probable  that  the  appearance  of  a  fresh  pedes- 
trian upon  its  arch  could  have  any  serious  effect 
upon  the  satisfactory  reflections  of  the  two  bravos. 
Yet  at  that  moment  a  man  did  appear  upon  the 
bridge,  who  paused  and  surveyed  Cocardasse  and 
Passepoil,  whose  backs  were  towards  him,  with  a  sig- 
nificant smile. 

The  new-comer  was  humbly  clad,  very  much  in  the 
fashion  of  one  of  those  gypsies  who  had  pitched  their 
camp  so  close  to  the  wayside  tavern ;  but  if  the  man's 
clothes  were  something  of  the  gypsy  habit,  he  carried 
a  sword  under  his  ragged  mantle,  and  it  was  plain 
from  the  man's  face  that  he  was  not  a  gypsy.  His 
handsome,  daring,  humorous  face,  bronzed  by  many 
suns  and  lined  a  little  by  many  experiences — a  face 
that  in  its  working  mobility  and  calm  inscrutability 
might  possibly  have  been  the  countenance  of  a  stroll- 
ing player — was  the  face  of  a  man  still  in  the  prime 
of  life,  and  carrying  his  years  as  lightly  as  if  he  were 
still  little  more  than  a  lad.  He  moved  noiselessly 
from  the  bridge  to  the  high-road,  and  came  cautiously 
upon  the  swashbucklers  at  the  very  moment  when 
Passepoil  was  saying,  with  a  shiver:  "I'm  always 
afraid  to  hear  Lagardere's  voice  cry  out  Nevers's 
motto." 

Even  on  the  instant  the  man  in  the  gypsy  habit 
pushed  his  way  between  the  two  bandits,  laying  a 
hand  on  each  of  their  shoulders  and  saying  three 
words:  "I  am  here!" 

144 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  fell  apart,  each  with  the 
same  cry  in  the  same  amazed  voice. 

"Lagardere!"  said  Cocardasse,  and  his  ruddy  face 
paled. 

"Lagardere!"  said  Passepoil,  and  his  pale  face 
flushed. 

As  for  Lagardere,  he  laughed  heartily  at  their  con- 
fusion. "You  are  like  scared  children  whose  nurse 
hears  bogey  in  the  chimney." 

Cocardasse  strove  to  seem  amused.  "Children!" 
he  said,  with  a  forced  laugh,  and  it  was  with  a  forced 
laugh  that  Passepoil  repeated  the  word  "Bogey." 

For  a  moment  the  good-humor  faded  from  the  face 
of  Lagardere,  and  he  spoke  grimly  enough:  "There 
were  nine  assassins  in  the  moat  at  Caylus.  How 
many  are  left  now?" 

"Only  three,"  Cocardasse  answered. 

Passepoil  was  more  precise.  "Cocardasse  and  my- 
self and  jEsop." 

Lagardere  looked  at  them  mockingly.  "Doesn't 
it  strike  you  that  ^Esop  will  soon  be  alone  ?" 

Cocardasse  shuddered.     "It's  no  laughing  matter." 

Lagardere  still  continued  to  smile.  "Vengeance 
sometimes  wears  a  sprightly  face  and  smiles  while 
she  strikes." 

Passepoil  was  now  a  sickly  green.  "A  very  pain- 
ful humor,"  he  stammered. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  and  then  Cocar- 
dasse suddenly  spoke  in  a  decisive  tone.  "Captain, 
you  have  no  right  to  kill  us,"  he  growled,  and  Passe- 
10  145 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

poll,  nodding  his  long  head,  repeated  his  companion's 
phrase  with  Norman  emphasis. 

Lagardere  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
pair,  and  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  re- 
assured them.  "Are  you  scared,  old  knaves?  No 
explanations;  let  me  speak.  That  night  in  Caylus, 
seventeen  years  ago,  when  the  darkness  quivered 
with  swords,  I  did  not  meet  your  blades." 

Cocardasse  explained.  "When  you  backed  Nevers 
we  took  no  part  in  the  scuffle." 

"Nor  did  we  join  in  hunting  you  later,"  Passepoil 
added,  hurriedly. 

Lagardere's  face  wore  a  look  of  satisfaction.  "In 
all  the  tumult  of  that  tragic  night  I  thought  I  saw 
two  figures  standing  apart — thought  they  might  be, 
must  be,  my  old  friends.  That  is  why  I  have  sent 
for  you." 

"Sent  for  us?"  Cocardasse  echoed  in  astonishment. 

"Was  it  you  who — "  Passepoil  questioned,  equally 
surprised. 

"Why,  of  course  it  was,"  Lagardere  answered. 
"Sit  down  and  listen." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  very  table  at  which,  such 
a  short  time  before,  /Esop  had  sat  with  Peyrolles. 
Now  he  and  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  seated  them- 
selves, the  two  bravos  side  by  side  and  still  seem- 
ingly not  a  little  perturbed,  Lagardere  opposite  to 
them  and  studying  them  closely,  resting  his  chin 
upon  his  hands. 

"Ever  since  that  night  I  have  lived  in  Spain, 
146 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

hunted  for  a  while  by  Gonzague's  gang,  until,  grad- 
ually, Gonzague's  gang  ceased  to  exist." 

"The  thrust  of  Nevers,"  Cocardasse  commented, 
quietly. 

Lagardere  smiled  sadly.  "Exactly.  I  had  only 
one  purpose  in  life — to  avenge  Nevers  and  to  protect 
Nevers's  child.  I  abandoned  my  captaincy  of  irreg- 
ulars when  the  late  cardinal  quarrelled  with  Spain. 
I  did  not  like  the  late  cardinal,  but  he  was  a  French- 
man, and  so  was  I.  Since  then  I  have  lived  as  best 
I  could,  from  hand  to  mouth,  but  always  the  child 
was  safe,  always  the  child  was  cared  for,  always  the 
child  was  in  some  obscure  hands  that  were  kind  and 
mild.  Well,  the  child  grew  up,  the  beautiful  child 
dawned  into  a  beautiful  girl,  and  still  I  kept  her  to 
myself,  for  I  knew  it  was  not  safe  to  let  Gonzague 
know  that  she  lived.  But  the  girl  is  a  woman  now; 
she  is  the  age  to  inherit  the  territories  of  Nevers. 
The  law  will  shield  her  from  the  treason  of  Gonzague. 
The  king  will  protect  the  daughter  of  his  friend." 

The  Norman  shook  his  head,  and  the  expression 
of  his  face  was  very  dubious.  "  Gonzague  is  a  power- 
ful personage." 

Cocardasse  did  not  appear  to  be  so  much  impressed 
by  the  power  of  Gonzague,  but  then  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  he  came  from  Marseilles,  while  Passe- 
poil  arrived  from  Calais,  which  is  more  impressed  by 
Paris.  What  the  Gascon  wanted  to  know  was  how 
his  old  friend  and  one-time  enemy  had  contrived  to 
appear  so  opportunely. 

147 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  he  asked. 

Lagardere  explained.  "There  was  a  gypsy  lass 
in  Madrid  of  whom  by  chance  Gabrielle  had  made  a 
friend.  Poor  girl,  she  could  not  have  many  friends. 
One  day  this  girl  told  us  that  she  and  her  tribe  were 
going  to  Paris  on  some  secret  business  of  their  own. 
Here  was  an  opportunity  for  the  exiles  to  return, 
unseen,  to  France.  As  gypsies,  we  travelled  with 
the  gypsies.  I  have  been  a  strolling  player,  and  as 
a  strolling  player  I  helped  to  pay  my  way.  Before 
we  left  Madrid  I  wrote  you  those  letters.  As  a  re- 
sult of  all  this  delicate  diplomacy,  here  I  am,  and 
here  you  are." 

Cocardasse  still  was  puzzled.  "But  our  letters 
spoke  of  the  service  of  Gonzague?" 

Lagardere  laughed  as  he  answered  the  riddle. 
"Because,  dear  dullards,  I  want  you  to  enter  the 
service  of  Gonzague.  If  I  return  to  France  to  right 
a  wrong,  I  know  the  risk  I  run  and  the  blessing  of 
you  two  devils  to  help  me." 

Each  of  the  two  bravos  extended  his  right  hand. 
"Any  help  we  can  give,"  protested  Cocardasse — 
"is  yours,"  added  Passepoil. 

Lagardere  clasped  the  extended  hands  confidently. 
"I  take  you  at  your  words.  Gonzague  is  at  the  fair 
yonder  in  attendance  upon  the  king.  You  may  get 
a  chance  to  approach  him.  He  can  hardly  refuse 
you  his  favor." 

"Hardly,"  said  Cocardasse,  grimly,  and — "hardly," 
echoed  Passepoil,  with  a  wry  smile. 

148 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Lagardere  rose  to  his  feet.  "Go  now.  I  shall 
find  means  to  let  you  know  of  my  whereabouts  and 
my  purposes  later.  Till  then — " 

"Devotion!"  cried  Cocardasse. 

"Discretion!"  cried  Passepoil,  and  each  of  the  men 
saluted  Lagardere  with  a  military  salute.  Then  the 
two  bravos,  linking  arms,  crossed  the  bridge  together 
and  made  for  the  fair,  conversing  as  they  went  of  the 
wonderful  chance  that  had  brought  Lagardere  back 
to  Paris  and  their  own  good-fortune  in  having  been 
able  to  prove  themselves  innocent  of  complicity  in 
the  murder  of  Nevers. 

When  they  were  gone,  Lagardere  walked  slowly 
up  and  down  beneath  the  trees,  reflecting  deeply. 
He  had  gained  one  point  in  the  desperate  game  he 
had  set  himself  to  play.  He  had  found  two  ad- 
herents upon  whose  hands,  whose  hearts,  and  whose 
swords  he  could  count  with  confidence,  and  he  felt 
that  he  had  succeeded,  in  a  measure,  in  planting  ad- 
herents of  his  own  in  the  enemy's  camp.  But  he 
had  another  point  in  his  desperate  game  to  win  that 
morning.  He  had  written  a  letter,  he  had  requested 
a  favor,  he  had  made  an  appointment.  Immediately 
on  arriving  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris  he  had 
caused  a  letter  to  be  despatched  to  the  king's  maj- 
esty—  not  to  the  king  direct,  indeed,  but  to  the 
king's  private  secretary,  whom  Lagardere  knew  by 
repute  to  be  an  honorable  and  loyal  gentleman, 
who  could  be,  as  he  believed,  relied  upon,  if  he 
credited  the  letter,  to  keep  it  as  a  secret  between 

149 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

himself  and  his  royal  master.  It  was  a  bold  hazard, 
although  the  letter  was  weighted  with  the  talisman 
of  a  name  that  must  needs  recall  an  ancient  friend- 
ship. Would  that  letter  be  answered  ?  Would  that 
favor  be  granted  ?  Would  that  appointment  be 
kept? 

For  some  time  Lagardere  paced  the  grass  thought- 
fully; for  some  time — perhaps  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour — his  solitude  was  undisturbed.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  he  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
and,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge,  surveyed  the 
road  that  led  to  Neuilly.  What  he  saw  upon  the 
road  seemed  to  give  him  the  greatest  satisfaction. 
Three  gentlemen  were  walking  together  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Inn.  One  was  a  very  dandy-like  young 
gentleman,  very  foppishly  habited,  who  seemed  to 
skip  through  existence  upon  twinkling  heels.  An- 
other was  a  stiff,  soldierly  looking  man  of  more  than 
middle  age,  whom  Lagardere  knew  to  be  Captain 
Bonnivet,  of  the  Royal  Guards.  The  third,  who  was 
the  first  of  the  group,  was  a  man  who,  though  still  in 
the  early  prime  of  life,  looked  as  if  he  were  fretted 
with  the  cares  of  many  more  years  than  were  his  lot. 
He  was  a  slender  personage,  with  a  long,  pale  face. 
He  was  clad  entirely  in  black,  in  emphasis  of  a  mourn- 
ing mind,  and  as  he  walked  he  coughed  from  time  to 
time,  and  shivered  and  looked  about  him  wistfully. 
But  at  the  same  time  he  seemed  to  affect  a  gay 
manner  with  his  companions,  as  one  that  aired  a 
determination  to  be  entertained.  It  was  seventeen 

150 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

years  since  Lagardere  had  seen  the  king,  and  he  was 
saddened  at  the  change  that  the  years  had  made  in 
him.  He  could  only  pray  that  those  changing  years 
had  wrought  no  alteration  in  the  affection  of  Louis 
of  France  for  Louis  of  Nevers. 


XV 

THE    KING'S    WORD 

IN  a  moment  Lagardere  enveloped  himself  in  his 
gypsy's  cloak  and  flung  himself  on  one  of  the 
benches  of  the  Inn,  where  he  lay  as  if  wrapped  in  the 
heavy  sleep  which  is  the  privilege  of  those  that  live 
in  the  open  air  and  follow  the  stars  with  their  feet. 
When  the  king,  accompanied  by  Chavernay  and  fol- 
lowed by  Bonnivet,  crossed  the  bridge  and  paused 
before  the  Inn,  nothing  was  to  be  noticed  save  the 
huddle  of  gray  cloth  which  represented  some  tired 
wayfarer. 

Louis  of  France  looked  about  him  curiously.  "Is 
this  the  Inn  of  the  Three  Graces?"  he  asked. 

He  even  allowed  himself  to  laugh  a  small  laugh. 

The  Marquis  of  Chavernay  smiled  a  faint  smile. 
"Yes,  your  majesty,  and  since  I  have  been  privileged 
to  behold  two  of  its  three  attendant  graces  in  the 
flesh,  and  found  them  most  commendable  girls  and 
goddesses,  I  think,  without  indiscretion,  I  could  haz- 
ard a  guess  as  to  your  reason  for  this  visit." 

The  king  looked  at  his  impudent  companion  with  the 
complaisant  good-humor  which,  since  his  much-talked- 

152 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  bereavement,  he  was  prepared  to  extend  to  those 
most  fortunate  among  his  courtiers  who  could  suc- 
ceed in  diverting  his  melancholy.  He  was  familiar 
with  Chavernay's  impertinences,  for  Chavernay  had 
soon  discovered  that  the  witticisms  which  would 
have  gained  the  frown  of  the  cardinal  earned  the 
smiles  of  the  king.  "Truly,"  he  said — '"truly,  I  do 
come  for  an  assignation,  but  it  is  with  no  woman. 
You  boys  think  of  nothing  in  the  world  but  women." 

Chavernay  made  the  king  a  most  sweeping  rev- 
erence. "Your  majesty  would,  if  your  majesty 
deigned  to  condescend  so  far,  prove  the  most  fatal 
rival  of  your  most  amorous  subject." 

Since  the  death  of  the  cardinal,  Louis  liked  it  to 
be  hinted  that  he  was  still  the  man  of  gallantry,  ir- 
resistible when  he  pleased.  So  he  smiled  as  he  caught 
Chavernay's  ear  and  pinched  it.  "  Imp,  do  you  think 
you  lads  are  the  only  gallants,  and  that  we  old  soldiers 
must  give  way  to  you?" 

Chavernay  saluted  him  again.  "You  are  our  gen- 
eral, your  majesty — we  win  our  battles  in  your  name." 

Louis  laughed  and  then  looked  grave,  smiled  again 
and  then  sighed.  "My  dear  Chavernay,  when  you 
are  my  age  you  will  think  that  one  pretty  woman 
is  very  like  another  pretty  woman.  But  there  is  no 
pretty  woman  in  this  case." 

Chavernay  made  a  still  more  ironical  bow.  "Your 
majesty!"  he  said,  with  an  air  that  implied:  "Of 
course  I  must  appear  to  believe  you,  but  in  reality  I 
do  not  believe  you  at  all."  Chavernay  was  thinking 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  himself  of  the  adorable  creatures  whom  he  had  seen 
disappear  within  the  walls  of  the  Inn  and  the  walls  of 
the  caravan,  and  he  drew  his  conclusions  accordingly, 
and  drew  them  wrong.  When  the  king  answered 
him,  he  answered,  gravely,  as  one  who  objects  to  have 
his  word  questioned  even  by  a  frivolous  spirit  like 
Chavernay. 

"I  come  here,"  he  said,  "in  reply  to  a  letter  I  re- 
ceived two  days  ago — a  letter  which  appeals  to  me 
by  a  name  which  compels  me  to  consider  the  appeal. 
That  is  why  I  come  here  to-day.  My  correspondent 
makes  it  a  condition  that  I  come  alone.  Take  Bon- 
nivet  with  you.  Keep  within  call,  but  out  of  sight." 

Chavernay  bowed  very  respectfully  this  time. 
The  newest  friends  of  Louis  of  France  knew  that  they 
best  pleased  him  by  appearing  to  presume  on  his 
good-nature,  but  even  the  lightest  and  liveliest  of 
them  felt  that  there  was  a  point  beyond  which  he 
must  not  venture  to  presume.  Chavernay  felt  in- 
stinctively that  he  had  reached  that  point  now,  and 
his  manner  was  a  pattern  to  presentable  courtiers. 

"Yes,  your  majesty,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  Bon- 
nivet,  and  Bonnivet  and  he  went  over  the  bridge 
and  out  of  sight  among  a  little  clump  of  trees  on  the 
roadside.  From  here  they  could  see  the  king  plainly 
enough,  and  hear  him  if  he  chose  to  raise  his  voice 
loud  enough  to  call  them,  but  here  they  were  out 
of  ear-shot  of  any  private  conversation.  That  their 
presence  in  the  neighborhood  was  scarcely  necessary 
they  were  both  well  aware,  for  there  were  few  con- 

154 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

spiracies  against  the  king's  authority  and  no  plots 
against  the  king's  life,  and  if  Louis  of  France  had 
chosen  to  go  unattended  his  pompous,  melancholy 
person  would  have  been  in  no  danger. 

Louis  walked  slowly  to  the  little  table  in  the  arbor, 
and,  seating  himself,  took  out  a  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  read  it  thoughtfully  over.  Then  he  drew  a  watch 
looped  in  diamonds  from  his  pocket  and  looked  at  the 
hour.  As  he  did  so  the  huddled,  seeming  sleeping 
figure  on  the  bench  stiffened  itself,  sat  up  erect,  and 
cast  off  its  cloak. 

Lagardere  rose  and  advanced  towards  the  king. 
"I  am  here,"  he  said,  in  a  firm,  respectful  voice. 

Louis  turned  round  and  looked  with  curiosity 
but  without  apprehension  at  the  man  who  addressed 
him,  the  man  who  was  dressed  like  a  gypsy,  but  who 
clearly  was  no  gypsy.  "Are  you  the  writer  of  this 
letter?"  he  asked. 

Lagardere  saluted  him  with  a  graceful  reverence. 
"Yes,  your  Majesty.  I  know  that  you  are  the  King 
of  France." 

Louis  slightly  inclined  his  head.  "I  could  not  re- 
fuse a  summons  that  promised  to  tell  me  of  Louis  de 
Nevers.  Are  you  Lagardere?" 

Lagardere  made  a  gesture  as  of  protest.  "I  am 
his  ambassador.  Have  I  the  privilege  of  an  ambas- 
sador?" 

The  king  frowned  slightly.     "What  privilege?" 

"Immunity  if  my  mission  displeases  you,"  Lagar- 
dere answered. 

155 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

The  king  looked  steadily  at  the  seeming  gypsy, 
who  returned  his  glance  as  steadily.  "You  are  bold, 
sir,"  he  said. 

Lagardere  answered  him,  with  composure.  "I  am 
bold  because  I  address  Louis  of  France,  who  never 
broke  his  word — Louis  of  France,  who  still  holds  dear 
the  memory  of  Louis  of  Nevers." 

The  king  signed  to  him  to  continue.  "Speak 
freely.  What  do  you  know  of  Louis  of  Nevers?" 

Lagardere  went  on:  "Lagardere  knows  much.  He 
knows  who  killed  Nevers.  He  knows  where  Nevers 's 
child  is.  He  can  produce  the  child.  He  can  denounce 
the  murderer." 

"When?"  asked  the  king,  eagerly. 

"To-morrow,"  Lagardere  answered.  Then  he  has- 
tened to  add:  "But  he  makes  his  conditions." 

Louis  frowned  as  Lagardere  mentioned  the  word 
"conditions,"  and  asked:  "What  reward  does  he 
want?" 

Lagardere  smiled  at  the  question.  "You  do  not 
know  Lagardere.  He  asks  for  a  safe -conduct  for 
himself." 

The  king  agreed.     "He  shall  have  it." 

But  Lagardere  had  more  to  ask.  "He  also  wants 
four  invitations  for  the  ball  your  majesty  gives  at 
the  Palais  Royal  to-morrow  night." 

Perhaps  Lagardere  showed  himself  something  of  a 
courtier  in  this  speech.  The  great  Richelieu  had  be- 
queathed to  the  little  Louis  his  splendid  dwelling- 
house,  and  Louis  was  indeed  giving  a  stately  enter- 

156 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

tainment  there,  avowedly  in  order  to  do  honor  to  the 
memory  of  him  who  had  made  so  munificent  a  gift, 
but  in  reality  to  prove  to  himself  that  he  was  master 
where  he  had  been  slave,  and  that  he  could,  if  he 
pleased,  amuse  himself  to  his  heart's  content  in  the 
house  that  had  been  the  dwelling  of  his  tyrant.  What 
Louis,  always  dissimulative,  feigned  to  be  an  act  of 
gracious  homage  to  dead  generosity  was  in  truth 
an  act  of  defiant  and  safe  self-assertion.  Perhaps 
Lagardere  guessed  as  much.  Certainly  he  played 
agreeably  upon  the  king's  susceptibilities  when  he 
gave  to  Richelieu's  bequest  the  name  of  Palais  Royal, 
which  was  still  quite  unfamiliar,  instead  of  the  name 
of  Palais  Cardinal,  which  it  had  worn  so  long  and 
by  which  name  almost  every  one  still  called  it.  Cer- 
tainly the  king's  pale  cheeks  reddened  with  satis- 
faction at  the  phrase;  it  assured  him  soothingly  of 
what  he  was  pleased  to  consider  his  triumph.  But 
he  allowed  a  slight  expression  of  surprise  to  mingle 
with  his  air  of  complacency,  and  Lagardere  hastened 
to  give  the  reason  for  what  was  on  the  face  of  it  a 
sufficiently  strange  request. 

"There,  before  the  flower  of  the  nobility  of  France, 
Lagardere  will  denounce  Nevers's  assassin  and  pro- 
duce Nevers's  child." 

The  king  agreed  again.  "He  shall  have  his  wish. 
Where  shall  the  invitations  be  sent?" 

Lagardere  bowed  low  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
promise.  "Sire,"  he  said,  "an  emissary  from  Lagar- 
dere will  wait  upon  your  secretary  to-morrow  morn- 

'57 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

ing.  He  will  say  that  he  has  come  for  four  invita- 
tions promised  by  your  majesty  for  to-morrow  night, 
and  he  will  back  his  demand  with  the  password 
'Nevers.'" 

The  king  bowed  his  head.  "It  shall  be  done  as 
you  wish,"  he  answered.  "Is  there  anything  more?" 
he  asked,  and  Lagardere  replied:  "This  much  more: 
that  your  majesty  speak  nothing  of  this  to  any  one 
till  midnight  to-morrow." 

The  king  agreed  a  third  time.  "Lagardere  has 
my  word." 

"Then,"  said  Lagardere,  "Lagardere  will  keep  his 
word." 

Louis  rose  to  his  feet,  and  signed  that  the  inter- 
view was  ended.  "If  he  does,  I  am  his  friend  for 
life.  But  if  he  fail,  let  him  never  enter  France 
again,  for  on  my  word  as  a  gentleman  I  will  have 
his  head." 

He  saluted  Lagardere  slightly,  and  turned  and 
crossed  the  bridge.  A  few  paces  beyond  it  he  was 
joined  by  Chavernay  and  Bonnivet.  The  three 
stood  together  for  a  few  moments;  then  the  king 
and  Bonnivet  continued  their  journey  towards  Neu- 
illy,  leaving  Chavernay  behind  them,  lingering  in  the 
shade  of  the  trees. 


XVI 

SHADOWS 

TAGARDERE  looked  thoughtfully  after  the  de- 
L/ parting  monarch.  "God  save  your  majesty  for 
a  gallant  rnan,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "Now 
we  may  enter  Paris  in  safety.  Why,  who  is  this?" 
He  was  about  to  enter  the  Inn,  when  he  suddenly 
stopped  and  looked  back  sharply  over  the  Neuilly 
road.  To  his  surprise  he  saw  that  the  light-heeled 
fop  who  had  accompanied  the  king  was  retracing 
his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  bridge. 

Lagardere  asked  himself  what  this  could  mean. 
Did  the  king  suspect  him?  Was  he  sending  this 
delicate  courtier  to  question  him,  to  spy  upon  him? 
He  moved  a  little  way  across  the  stretch  of  common 
land,  and  stood  at  the  side  of  the  caravan  so  that  he 
was  concealed  from  any  one  crossing  the  bridge  from 
Neuilly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Chavernay's  return 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  business  which 
had  brought  the  king  to  the  Inn  of  the  Three  Graces. 
He  had  asked  and  gained  permission  to  be  free  to 
pursue  a  pastime  of  his  own,  and  that  pastime  was 
to  try  and  learn  something  of  the  pretty  lady  whom 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

he  had  frightened  into  the  seclusion  of  the  Inn,  a 
pastime  that  he  felt  the  freer  to  pursue  now  that 
the.  king's  assurance  that  he  had  visited  the  Three 
Graces  for  the  sake  of  no  woman. 

So,  dreaming  of  amorous  possibilities,  Chavernay 
came  daintily  across  the  bridge,  very  young,  very 
self-confident,  very  impudent,  very  much  enjoying 
himself.  As  he  neared  the  Inn  he  looked  about  him 
nonchalantly,  and,  seeing  that  no  one  was  in  sight, 
he  stooped  and  caught  up  a  pebble  from  the  road- 
way and  flung  it  dexterously  enough  against  the 
window  above  the  Inn  porch.  Then  he  slipped, 
smiling  mischievously,  under  the  doorway  of  the 
Inn,  and  waited  upon  events.  In  a  moment  the 
window  was  opened,  and  Gabrielle  looked  out.  "Is 
that  you,  Henri?"  she  asked,  softly. 

Instantly  Chavernay  emerged  from  his  hiding- 
place,  and  stood  bareheaded  and  bending  almost 
double  before  the  beautiful  girl.  "It  was  I,"  he 
said,  with  a  manner  of  airy  deference. 

Gabrielle  drew  back  a  little.  "You?  Who  are 
you?"  she  asked,  astonished. 

Chavernay  again  made  her  a  reverence.  "Your 
slave,"  he  asserted. 

Gabrielle  remembered  him  now,  and  looked  an- 
noyed. "Sir!"  she  said,  angrily. 

Chavernay  saw  her  anger,  but  was  not  dis- 
mayed. He  was  familiar  with  the  feigned  rages 
of  pretty  country  girls  when  it  pleased  great  lords 
to  make  love  to  them.  "Listen  to  me,"  he  plead- 

160 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

ed.     "Ever   since    I  first    saw   you   I  have    adored 
you." 

He  meant  to  say  more,  but  he  was  not  given  the 
time  in  which  to  say  it,  for  Lagardere  came  forth 
from  his  shelter  beside  the  caravan  and  inter- 
rupted him.  At  the  sight  of  Lagardere,  Gabrielle 
gave  a  little  cry  and  closed  the  window.  Lagar- 
dere advanced  to  Chavernay,  who  stared  in  as- 
tonishment at  the  presumption  of  the  gypsy  fellow 
— a  gypsy  fellow  that  carried  a  sword  under  his 
mantle. 

"That  young  girl  is  under  my  care,  little  gentle- 
man," Lagardere  said,  mockingly. 

But  Chavernay  was  not  easily  to  be  dashed  from 
his  habitual  manner  of  genial  insolence,  and  he 
answered,  as  mockingly  as  Lagardere:  "Then  I  tell 
you  what  I  told  her:  that  I  adore  her." 

Lagardere  eyed  him  whimsically,  grimly.  He  felt 
disagreeably  conscious  of  the  contrast  between  him- 
self in  his  shabby  habit  and  the  gilded  frippery  of 
this  brilliant  young  insolence.  He  speculated  with 
melanchoty  as  to  the  effect  of  this  contrast  on  the 
young  girl  that  witnessed  it.  "You  imp,  you  de- 
serve to  be  whipped!"  he  said,  sharply. 

Chavernay  stared  at  him  with  eyes  wide  with  as- 
tonishment, and  explained  himself,  haughtily:  "I  am 
the  Marquis  de  Chavernay,  cousin  of  the  Prince  de 
Gonzague." 

Lagardere  changed  his  phrase:   "Then  you  come 
of  a  bad  house,  and  deserve  to  be  hanged!" 
ix  161 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

In  a  second  the  little  marquis  dropped  his  daffing 
manner.  "If  you  were  a  gentleman,  sir,"  he  cried, 
"and  had  a  right  to  the  sword  you  presume  to  carry, 
I  would  make  you  back  your  words!" 

Lagardere  smiled  ironically.  "If  it  eases  your 
mind  in  any  way,"  he  said,  quietly,  "I  can  assure 
you  that  I  am  a  gentleman,  although  a  poor  one,  and 
have  as  good  right  to  trail  a  sword  as  any  kinsman 
of  the  Prince  de  Gonzague."  He  paused,  and  then 
added,  not  unpityingly:  "I  would  rather  beat  you 
than  kill  you." 

Chavernay  was  scarcely  to  be  appeased  in  this 
fashion.  Something  in  Lagardere's  carriage,  some- 
thing in  his  voice,  convinced  the  little  marquis  that 
his  enemy  was  speaking  the  truth,  and  that  he  was, 
indeed,  a  gentleman.  "Braggart!"  he  cried,  and, 
drawing  his  sword,  he  struck  Lagardere  across  the 
breast  with  the  flat  of  his  blade. 

Lagardere  was  quite  unmoved  by  the  affront. 
Leisurely  he  drew  his  sword  and  leisurely  fell  into 
position,  saying,  "Very  well,  then." 

The  swords  engaged  for  a  moment — only  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  to  the  surprise  and  rage  of  Chavernay, 
his  hand  and  his  sword  parted  company,  and  the 
sword,  a  glittering  line  of  steel,  leaped  into  the  air 
and  fell  to  earth  many  feet  away  from  him.  Even 
as  this  happened,  Gabrielle,  who  had  been  watching 
with  horror  the  quarrel  from  behind  her  curtains, 
came  running  down  the  Inn  stairs  and  darted  through 
the  door  into  the  open. 

162 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

She  turned  to  Lagardere,  appealing:  "Do  not  hurt 
him,  Henri;  he  is  but  a  child." 

The  little  marquis  frowned.  He  disliked  to  be 
regarded  as  a  pitiable  juvenile.  "If  the  gentleman 
will  return  me  my  sword,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  lose 
it  again  so  lightly." 

Lagardere  looked  at  him  with  kind-hearted  com- 
passion. "If  I  returned  you  your  sword  twenty 
times,"  he  said,  "its  fate  would  be  twenty  times 
the  same.  Take  your  sword  and  use  it  hereafter  to 
defend  women,  not  to  insult  them." 

While  he  was  speaking  he  had  stepped  to  where 
Chavernay's  blade  lay  on  the  sward,  and  had  picked 
it  up,  and  now,  as  he  made  an  end  of  speaking,  he 
handed  Chavernay  the  rapier.  Chavernay  took  it, 
and  sent  it  home  in  its  sheath  half  defiantly.  "Fair 
lady,  I  ask  your  pardon,"  he  said,  bowing  very 
reverentially  to  Gabrielle.  "Let  me  call  myself 
ever  your  servant."  He  turned  and  gave  Lagardere 
a  salutation  that  was  more  hostile  than  amiable,  and 
then  recrossed  the  bridge  in  his  airiest  manner  as  one 
that  is  a  lord  of  fortune.  Lagardere  stood  silent, 
almost  gloomy,  looking  at  the  ground.  Gabrielle 
regarded  him  for  a  moment  timidly,  and  then,  ad- 
vancing, softly  placed  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"You  are  not  angry  with  me?"  she  whispered. 

Lagardere  turned  to  her  and  forced  himself  to 
smile  cheerfully.  "Angry — with  you?  How  could 
that  be  possible  ?"  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
he  asked:  "Do  you  know  that  gentleman?" 

163 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gabrielle  shook  her  head.  "I  saw  him  for  the  first 
time  to-day,  not  very  long  ago,  when  I  was  speaking 
to  Flora.  I  had  come  out  for  a  moment  when  she 
called  to  me,  and  he  came  over  the  bridge  and  took 
us  unawares." 

Lagardere  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "Could 
you  love  such  a  man  as  he ?"  he  asked,  gravely.  "He 
is  young,  he  is  brave,  he  is  witty;  he  might  well  win 
a  girl's  heart." 

Gabrielle  returned  Lagardere 's  earnest  look  with  a 
look  of  surprise.  "He  is  a  noble.  I  am  a  poor  girl." 

Lagardere  smiled  wistfully.  "How  if  you  were  no 
longer  to  be  a  poor  girl,  Gabrielle  ?  How  if  this  visit 
to  Paris  were  to  change  our  fortunes?" 

Gabrielle  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Why  have  we 
come  to  Paris,  Henri?  I  thought  there  was  danger 
in  Paris?" 

"There  was  danger  in  Paris,"  Lagardere  said,  slow- 
ly— "grave  danger.  But  I  have  seen  a  great  man, 
and  the  danger  has  vanished,  and  you  and  I  are  com- 
ing to  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage." 

"The  end  of  our  pilgrimage?"  echoed  Gabrielle. 
"What  is  going  to  happen  to  us?" 

"Wonderful  things,"  Lagardere  said,  lightly — 
"beautiful  things.  You  shall  know  all  about  them 
soon  enough."  To  himself  he  whispered:  "Too  soon 
for  me."  Then  he  addressed  the  girl  again,  blithely: 
"When  I  took  you  to  Madrid  you  saw  the  color  of 
the  court,  you  heard  the  music  of  festivals.  Did  you 
not  feel  that  you  were  made  for  such  a  life?" 

164 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gabrielle  answered  instantly:  "Yes,  for  that  life 
—or  any  life — with  you." 

Lagardere  protested:    "Ah,  but  without  me." 

Gabrielle 's  graceful  being  seemed  to  stiffen  a  little, 
and  her  words  gave  an  absolute  decision:  "Nothing 
without  you,  Henri." 

Lagardere  seemed  to  tempt  the  girl  with  his  next 
speech:  "Those  women  you  saw  had  palaces,  had 
noble  kinsfolk,  had  mothers — " 

Gabrielle  was  not  to  be  tempted  from  her  faith. 
"A  mother  is  the  only  treasure  I  envy  them,"  she 
said,  firmly. 

Lagardere  looked  at  her  strangely,  and  again  ques- 
tioned her.  "But  suppose  you  had  a  mother,  and 
suppose  you  had  to  choose  between  that  mother  and 
me?" 

For  a  moment  Gabrielle  paused.  The  question 
seemed  to  have  a  distressing  effect  upon  her.  She 
echoed  his  last  words:  "Between  my  mother  and 
you."  Then  she  paused,  and  her  lips  trembled,  but 
she  spoke  very  steadily:  "Henri,  you  are  the  first 
in  the  world  for  me." 

Lagardere  sighed.  "You  have  never  known  a 
mother,  but  there  are  graver  rivals  to  a  friendship 
such  as  ours  than  a  mother's  love." 

"What  rivals  can  there  be  to  our  friendship?" 
Gabrielle  asked. 

Lagardere  answered  her  sadly  enough,  though  he 
seemed  to  smile:  "A  girl's  love  for  a  boy,  a  maid's 
love  for  a  man.  That  pretty  gentleman  who  was 

165  ' 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

here  but  now,  and  swore  he  adored  you — if  you 
were  noble,  could  you  love  such  a  man  as  he?" 

Gabrielle  began  to  laugh,  as  if  all  the  agitations  of 
the  past  instants  had  been  dissipated  into  nothingness 
by  the  jest  of  such  a  question.  "I  swear  to  you, 
Henri,"  she  said,  softly,  "that  the  man  I  could  love 
would  not  be  at  all  like  Monsieur  de  Chavernay." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Lagardere  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 
It  was  something,  at  least,  to  know  whom  Gabrielle 
de  Nevers  could  not  love.  He  essayed  to  laugh,  too. 

"What  would  he  be  like,"  he  asked — "the  wonder 
whom  you  would  consent  to  love?" 

He  spoke  very  merrily,  but  it  racked  his  heart 
to  speak  thus  lightly  of  the  love  of  Gabrielle.  He 
wished  that  he  were  a  little  boy  again,  that  he  might 
hide  behind  some  tree  and  cry  out  his  grief  in  bitter 
tears.  But  being,  as  he  reminded  himself,  a  weather- 
beaten  soldier  of  fortune,  it  was  his  duty  to  screen 
his  misery  with  a  grin  and  to  salute  his  doom  with 
amusement.  As  for  Gabrielle,  she  came  a  little  near- 
er to  Lagardere,  and  her  eyes  were  shining  very 
brightly,  and  her  lips  trembled  a  little,  and  she 
seemed  a  little  pale  in  the  clear  air. 

"I  will  try  to  paint  you  a  picture,"  she  said,  hesi- 
tatingly, "of  the  man  I  " — she  paused  for  a  second, 
and  then  continued,  hurriedly — "of  the  man  I  could 
love.  He  would  be  about  your  height,  as  I  should 
think,  to  the  very  littlest  of  an  inch;  and  he  would 
be  built  as  you  are  built,  Henri;  and  his  hair  would 
be  of  your  color,  and  his  eyes  would  have  your  fire; 

166 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

and  his  voice  would  have  the  sound  of  your  voice, 
the  sweetest  sound  in  the  world;  and  the  sweetest 
sound  of  that  most  sweet  voice  would  be  when  it 
whispered  to  me  that  it  loved  me." 

Lagardere  looked  at  her  with  haggard,  happy 
eyes.  He  could  not  misunderstand,  and  he  was 
happy;  he  dared  not  understand,  and  he  was  sad. 

"Gabrielle,"  he  said,  softly,  "when  you  were  a 
little  maid  I  used  to  tell  you  tales  to  entertain  you. 
Will  you  let  me  spin  you  a  fable  now?" 

The  girl  said  nothing;  only  she  nodded,  and  she 
looked  at  him  very  fixedly.  Lagardere  went  on: 

"There  was  once  a  man,  a  soldier  of  fortune,  an 
adventurous  rogue,  into  whose  hands  a  jesting  des- 
tiny confided  a  great  trust.  That  trust  was  the  life 
of  a  child,  of  a  girl,  of  a  woman,  whom  it  was  his 
glory  to  defend  for  a  while  with  his  sword  against 
many  enemies." 

"  I  think  he  defended  her  very  well,"  Gabrielle  inter- 
rupted, gently.  Lagardere  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"Hush,"  he  said.  "What  I  am  speaking  of  took 
place  ages  ago,  when  the  world  was  ever  so  much 
younger,  in  the  days  of  Charlemagne  and  Cajsar  and 
Achilles  and  other  great  princes  long  since  withered, 
so  you  can  know  nothing  at  all  about  it.  But  this 
rogue  of  my  story  had  a  sacred  duty  to  fulfil.  He 
had  to  restore  to  this  charge,  this  ward  of  his,  the 
name,  the  greatness,  that  had  been  stolen  from  her. 
It  was  his  mission  to  give  her  back  the  gifts  which 
had  been  filched  from  her  by  treason.  For  seventeen 

167 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

years  he  had  lived  for  this  purpose,  and  only  for  this 
purpose,  crushing  all  other  thoughts,  all  other  hopes, 
all  other  dreams.  What  would  you  say  of  such  a 
man,  so  sternly  dedicated  to  so  great  a  faith,  if  he 
were  to  prove  false  to  his  trust,  and  to  allow  his  own 
mad  passion  to  blind  him  to  the  light  of  loyalty,  to 
deafen  him  to  the  call  of  honor?" 

He  was  looking  away  from  her  as  he  spoke,  but  the 
girl  came  close  to  him  and  caught  his  hands,  and  made 
him  turn  his  face  to  her,  and  each  saw  that  the  oth- 
er's eyes  were  wet.  Gabrielle  spoke  steadily,  eagerly: 

"You  say  that  what  you  speak  of  happened  very 
long  ago.  But  we  are  to-day  as  those  were  yester- 
day, and  if  I  were  the  maid  of  your  tale  I  would  say 
to  the  man  that  love  is  the  best  thing  a  true  man  can 
give  to  a  true  woman,  and  that  a  woman  who  wore 
my  body  could  lose  no  wealth,  no  kingdom,  to  com- 
pare with  the  rich  treasure  of  her  lover's  heart." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  the  girl, 
the  meaning  ringing  in  her  words,  shining  in  her  eyes, 
appealing  in  her  out-stretched  arms.  To  Lagardere 
it  seemed  as  if  the  kingdom  of  the  world  were  offered 
to  him.  He  had  but  to  keep  silence,  and  his  heart's 
desire  was  his.  But  he  remembered  the  night  in  the 
moat  of  Caylus,  he  remembered  the  purpose  of  long 
years,  he  remembered  his  duty,  he  remembered  his 
honor,  and  he  grappled  with  the  dragon  of  passion, 
with  the  dragon  of  desire.  Very  calmly  he  touched 
for  a  moment,  with  caressing  hand,  the  hair  of  Ga- 
brielle. Very  quietly  he  spoke. 

1 68 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"We  are  taking  my  fairy  tale  too  gravely,"  he 
said.  "It  all  happened  long  ago,  and  has  nothing 
to  do  with  us.  Our  story  is  very  different,  and  our 
story  is  coming  to  a  wonderful  conclusion.  This 
day  is  your  last  day  of  doubt  and  ignorance,  of  soli- 
tude and  poverty."  He  turned  a  little  away  from 
her  and  murmured  to  himself:  "It  is  also  my  last 
day  of  youth  and  joy  and  hope." 

Gabrielle  pressed  her  hands  against  her  breasts 
for  a  moment,  like  one  in  great  dismay.  The  tears 
welled  into  her  eyes.  Then  she  gave  a  little  moan 
of  wonder  and  protest,  and  sprang  towards  him  with 
out-stretched  hands.  "Do  you  not  understand ?"  she 
cried.  "Henri,  Henri,  I  love  you." 

Lagardere  grasped  the  out-stretched  hands,  and 
in  another  moment  would  have  caught  the  girl  in 
his  arms,  but  a  dry,  crackling  laugh  arrested  him. 
Gently  restraining  Gabrielle's  advance,  he  turned 
his  head  and  saw  standing  upon  the  bridge  survey- 
ing him  and  Gabrielle  a  sinister  figure.  It  was 
^sop,  returning  from  his  stroll  with  Monsieur  Pey- 
rolles,  who  had  paused  on  the  bridge  in  cynical 
amusement  of  what  he  conceived  to  be  a  lovers' 
meeting  between  countryman  and  countrymaid,  but 
whose  face  now  flushed  with  a  sudden  interest  as  he 
recognized  the  face  of  the  man  in  the  gypsy  habit. 

Lagardere  turned  again  to  Gabrielle,  and  his  face 
was  calm  and  smiling.  "Go  in-doors,"  he  said,  pleas- 
antly, "I  will  join  you  by-and-by." 

Gabrielle,  in  her  turn,  had  glanced  at  the  sinister 
169 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

figure  on  the  bridge,  and,  seeing  the  malevolence  of 
its  attitude,  of  its  expression,  had  drawn  back  with 
a  faint  cry.  "Henri,"  she  said — "Henri,  who  is  that 
watching  us?  He  looks  so  evil." 

Lagardere  had  recognized  yEsop  as  instantly  as 
^Esop  had  recognized  Lagardere.  ./Esop  now  came 
slowty  towards  them,  addressing  them  mockingly: 
"Do  not  let  me  disturb  you.  Life  is  brief,  but  love 
is  briefer." 

Lagardere  again  commanded  Gabrielle:  "Go  in, 
child,  at  once." 

"Are  you  in  danger?"  Gabrielle  asked,  fearfully. 

Lagardere  shook  his  head  and  repeated  his  com- 
mand: "No.  Go  in  at  once.  Wait  in  your  room 
until  I  come  for  you." 

JEsop  looked  at  him  with  raised  eyebrows  and  a 
wicked  grin.  "Why  banish  the  lady?  She  might 
find  my  tale  entertaining." 

At  an  imperative  signal  from  Lagardere,  Gabrielle 
entered  the  Inn.  Lagardere  then  advanced  towards 
/Esop,  who  watched  him  with  folded  arms  and  his 
familiar  malevolent  smile.  When  they  were  quite 
close,  vEsop  greeted  Lagardere: 

"So  the  rat  has  come  to  the  trap  at  last.  Lagar- 
dere in  Paris — ha,  ha!" 

Lagardere  looked  at  him  ponderingly.  "The 
thought  amuses  you." 

./^Esop's  grin  deepened.  "Very  much.  Before  night- 
fall you  will  be  in  prison." 

Lagardere  seemed  to  deny  him.  "I  think  not. 
170 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

You  cany  a  sword  and  can  use  it.     You  shall  fight 
for  your  life,  like  your  fellow- assassins." 

.'Esop  looked  about  him.  "I  have  but  to  raise 
my  voice.  There  must  be  people  within  call  even  in 
this  sleepy  neighborhood." 

Lagardere  still  smiled,  and  the  smile  was  still  pro- 
vocative. "But  if  you  raise  your  voice  I  shall  be  re- 
luctantly compelled  to  stab  you  where  you  stand. 
Ah,  coward,  can  you  only  fight  in  the  dark  when 
you  are  nine  to  one?" 

.^Esop  gave  his  hilt  a  hitch.  "You  will  serve  my 
master's  turn  as  well  dead  as  alive.  I  wear  the  best 
sword  in  the  world,  and  it  longs  for  your  life." 

Lagardere  pointed  to  the  tranquil  little  Inn.  "Be- 
hind yonder  Inn  there  is  a  garden.  To-day,  when  all 
the  world  is  at  the  fair,  that  garden  is  as  lonely  as  a 
cemetery.  At  the  foot  of  the  garden  runs  the  river, 
a  ready  grave  for  the  one  who  falls.  There  we  can 
fight  in  quiet  to  our  heart's  content." 

^Esop  glared  at  Lagardere  with  a  look  of  trium- 
phant hatred.  "I  mean  to  kill  you,  Lagardere!" 
he  said,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  surety  of  his 
intention  and  his  belief  in  his  power  to  carry  it  out. 

Lagardere  only  laughed  as  lightly  as  before.  "I 
mean  to  kill  you,  Master  ^sop.  I  have  waited  a 
long  time  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again." 

Then  the  pair  passed  into  the  quiet  Inn  and  out  of 
the  quiet  Inn  into  the  quiet  Inn's  quiet  garden,  and 
down  the  quiet  garden  to  a  quiet  space  hard  by  the 
quiet  river. 

171 


XVII 

IN   THE    GARDEN 

BEYOND  the  Inn  there  ran,  or  rather  rambled, 
a  long  garden,  the  more  neglected  part  of  which 
was  grown  with  flowers,  while  the  better-attended 
portion  was  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  vegeta- 
bles. Where  the  garden  ceased  a  little  orchard  of 
apple-trees,  pear-trees,  and  plum-trees  began,  and 
this  orchard  was  followed  by  a  small  open  space  of 
grassed  land  which  joined  the  river.  Here  a  diminu- 
tive landing-stage  had  been  built,  which  was  now 
crazy  enough  with  age  and  dilapidation,  and  at- 
tached to  this  stage  were  a  couple  of  ancient  rowing- 
boats,  against  whose  gaunt  ribs  the  ripples  lapped. 
Sometimes  this  garden  and  orchard  had  their  visitors: 
the  landlord  and  his  friends  would  often  smoke  their 
pipes  and  drink  their  wine  under  the  shade  of  the 
trees,  and  even  passing  clients  would  occasionally 
indulge  themselves  with  the  privilege  of  a  stroll  in 
the  untidy  garden.  But  to-day  the  place  was  quite 
deserted  —  as  desolate  as  a  garden  in  a  dream. 
Every  one  who  could  go  had  gone  to  the  fair,  and 
those  travellers  who  paused  to  drink  in  passing 

172 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

took  their  liquor  quickly  and  hurried  on  to  share 
in  the  fair's  festivity.  The  landlord  was  kept  busy 
enough  attending  to  those  passers-by  in  the  early 
part  of  the  day,  and,  now  that  the  stream  had  ceased 
and  custom  slackened,  he  was  glad  enough  to  take 
his  ease  in-doors  and  leave  his  garden  to  its  loneli- 
ness. 

When,  therefore,  Lagardere  and  ^Esop  entered  the 
garden  they  found  it  as  quiet  and  as  uninhabited  as 
any  pair  of  swordsmen  could  desire.  They  walked 
in  silence  along  the  path  between  the  flowers  and 
the  vegetables,  Lagardere  only  pausing  for  a  moment 
to  pluck  a  wild  rose  which  he  proposed  in  the  serenity 
of  his  confidence  to  present  to  Gabrielle,  and  while 
he  paused  -32sop  eyed  him  maliciously  and  amused 
himself  by  kicking  with  his  heel  at  a  turnip  and 
hacking  it  into  fragments.  Lagardere  put  his  flower 
into  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and  the  pair  resumed  their 
silent  progress  through  the  orchard  till  they  came 
to  a  halt  upon  the  river-bank. 

Lagardere  looked  about  him  and  seemed  pleased 
with  what  he  saw.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  either 
hard  by  or  upon  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  and 
he  felt  that  it  might  be  taken  for  granted  that  there 
was  no  one  within  hearing.  He  turned  to  v^Esop  and 
addressed  him,  very  pleasantly:  "This,  I  think,  will 
serve  our  purpose  as  well  as  any  place  in  the  world." 

JEsop  grinned  malignly.  "It  would  suit  my  pur- 
pose," he  said,  "to  get  you  out  of  the  way  in  any 
place  in  the  world." 

173 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Lagardere  laughed  softly  and  shook  his  head. 
"One  or  other  of  us  has  to  be  got  out  of  the  way,"  he 
said,  quietly,  "but  I  think,  Master  .3£sop,  that  I  am 
not  the  man.  I  have  been  waiting  a  long  time  for 
this  chance;  but  I  always  felt  sure  that  the  time 
would  bring  the  chance,  and  I  mean  to  make  an  end 
of  you." 

^Esop  scowled.  "You  talk  very  big,  Little  Paris- 
ian," he  said,  "but  you  will  find  that  in  me  you  deal 
with  a  fellow  of  another  temper  to  those  poor  hirelings 
you  have  been  lucky  enough  to  kill.  They  were  com- 
mon rogues  enough,  that  handled  their  swords  like 
broom-handles.  I  was  always  a  master,  and  my 
skill  has  grown  more  perfect  since  we  last  met  at 
Caylus.  I  think  you  will  regret  this  meeting,  Cap- 
tain Lagardere." 

Now,  Lagardere  had  been  listening  very  patiently 
while  ^Esop  spoke,  and  while  he  listened  a  thought 
came  into  his  mind  which  at  first  seemed  too  fantas- 
tic for  consideration,  but  which  grew  more  tempting 
and  more  entertainable  with  every  second.  To  thrust 
^Esop  from  his  path  was  one  thing,  and  a  thing  that 
must  be  done  if  Lagardere's  life-purposes  were  to 
be  accomplished.  But  to  get  rid  of  -3£sop  and  yet 
to  use  him — at  once  to  obliterate  him  and  yet  to 
recreate  him,  so  that  he  should  prove  the  most  deadly 
enemy  of  the  base  cause  that  he  was  paid  to  serve — • 
here  was  a  scheme,  a  dream,  that  if  it  could  be  made 
a  reality  would  be  fruitful  of  good  uses.  It  was  there- 
fore with  a  strange  smile  that  he  listened  while  JEsop 

174 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

menaced  him  with  regret  for  the  meeting,  and  it  was 
with  a  strange  smile  that  he  spoke: 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  he  answered,  maturing  his 
plan  even  while  he  talked,  and  finding  it  the  more 
feasible  and  the  more  pleasing.  "You  are  a  haggard 
rascal,  Master  ^Esop,  and  the  world  should  have  no 
use  for  you.  I  believe  that  by  what  I  am  about  to 
do  I  shall  render  the  world  and  France  and  myself 
a  service.  You  are  nothing  more  than  a  rabid  wild 
beast,  and  it  is  well  to  be  quit  of  you."  As  he  spoke 
he  drew  his  sword  and  came  on  guard. 

Something  in  the  composed  manner  and  the  mock- 
ing speech  of  Lagardere  seemed  to  bid  JEsop  pause. 
He  let  his  weapon  remain  in  its  sheath  and  began 
to  parley. 

"Come,  come,  Captain  Lagardere,"  he  began,  "is 
it  necessary,  after  all,  that  we  should  quarrel  ?  You 
have  got  Nevers's  girl — there  is  no  denying  that — 
but  we  do  not  want  her.  We  have  a  girl  of  our  own. 
Now  I  know  well  enough,  for  I  have  not  studied  love 
books  and  read  love  books  for  nothing,"  and  he  grin- 
ned hideously  as  he  spoke,  "that  yoti  are  in  love  with 
the  girl  you  carry  about  with  you.  Well  and  good. 
How  if  we  call  a  truce,  make  a  peace  ?  You  shall  keep 
your  girl,  and  do  as  you  please  with  her;  we  will  pro- 
duce our  girl,  and  do  as  we  please  with  her.  You 
shall  have  as  much  money  as  you  want,  I  can  promise 
that  for  the  Prince  of  Gonzague,  and  you  can  live  in 
Madrid  or  where  you  please  with  your  pretty  minion. 
Make  a  bargain,  man,  and  shake  hands  on  it." 

175 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Lagardere  eyed  the  hunchback  with  something  of 
the  compassion  and  curiosity  of  a  surgeon  about  to 
deal  with  an  ugly  case.  He  saw  now  his  enemy's 
hand  and  the  strength  of  his  enemy's  cards  and  the 
cleverness  of  his  enemy's  plan,  and  was  not  in  the 
least  abashed  by  its  audacity  or  his  own  isolation. 

"Master  ^Esop,"  he  said,  briefly,  "if  it  ever  came 
to  pass  that  I  should  find  myself  making  terms  or 
shaking  hands  with  such  as  you,  or  the  knave  that 
uses  you  for  his  base  purpose,  I  should  very  swiftly 
go  and  hang  myself,  I  should  be  so  ashamed  of  my 
own  bad  company.  We  have  talked  long  enough; 
it  is  time  for  action."  He  saluted  quickly  as  he 
spoke,  according  to  the  code  of  the  fencing-schools. 

And  .<3£sop,  in  answer  to  the  challenge,  drew  his 
own  sword  and  answered  the  salutation.  "Gallant 
captain,"  he  sneered,  "I  have  been  in  training  for 
this  chance  these  many  years,  and  I  think  I  will 
teach  you  to  weep  for  your  heroics."  As  he  spoke 
he  came  on  guard,  and  the  blades  met. 

The  place  that  had  been  chosen  for  the  combat 
was  suitable  enough,  quite  apart  from  its  solitude. 
The  morning  air  was  clear  and  even;  the  sun's  height 
caused  no  diverting  rays  to  disturb  either  adversary; 
the  grass  was  smooth  and  supple  to  the  feet;  there 
was  ample  ground  to  break  in  all  directions. 

The  moment  that  Lagardere's  steel  touched  that 
of  .'Esop's,  he  knew  that  ^sop's  boast  had  not  been 
made  in  vain.  Though  it  was  a  long  time  now  since 
that  afternoon  in  the  frontier  Inn  when  he  and 

176 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

had  joined  blades  before,  he  remembered  the 
time  well  enough  to  appreciate  the  difference  between 
the  sword  he  then  encountered  and  the  sword  he 
encountered  now.  Clearly  ^sop  had  spoken  the 
truth  when  he  had  talked  of  his  daily  practice  and  his 
steady  advance  towards  perfection.  But,  and  Lagar- 
dere  smiled  as  he  remembered  this,  ^Esop  had  forgot- 
ten or  overlooked  the  possibility  that  Lagardere's  own 
sword-play  would  improve  with  time — that  Lagar- 
dere's own  sword-play  was  little  likely  to  rust  for 
lack  of  usage. 

The  few  minutes  that  followed  upon  the  encounter 
of  the  hostile  steels  were  minutes  of  sheer  enjoyment 
to  Lagardere.  AZsop  was  a  worthy  antagonist,  that 
he  frankly  admitted  from  the  first,  and  he  wished,  as 
he  fought,  that  he  could  divide  his  personality  and 
admire,  as  a  spectator,  the  passage  at  arms  between 
two  such  champions.  Of  the  result,  from  the  first, 
Lagardere  had  not  the  slightest  doubt.  He  was  hon- 
estly convinced,  by  his  simple  logic  of  steel,  that  it  was 
his  mission  to  avenge  Nevers  and  to  expiate  his  mur- 
der. He  was,  as  it  were,  a  kind  of  seventeenth  century 
crusader,  with  a  sealed  and  sacred  mission  to  follow; 
and  while,  as  a  stout-hearted  and  honest  soldier  of  fort- 
une, he  had  no  more  hesitation  about  killing  a  venom- 
ous thing  like  ^Esop  than  he  would  have  had  about 
killing  a  snake,  he  was  in  this  special  instance  exult- 
ed by  the  belief  that  in  killing  one  of  the  men  of  the 
moat  of  Caylus  his  sword  was  the  sword  of  justice, 
his  sword  was  the  sword  of  God. 
12  177 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

If,  therefore,  it  was  soon  plain  to  him  that  the  boast 
of  the  hunchback  was  true  enough,  and  that  his  skill 
with  his  weapon  had  greatly  bettered  in  the  years 
that  had  elapsed  since  their  previous  encounter,  La- 
gardere  was  rejoiced  to  find  it  so,  as  it  gave  a  greater 
difficulty  and  a  greater  honor  to  his  achievement.  It 
was  clear,  too,  from  the  expression  on  ^Esop's  face, 
after  the  first  few  instants  of  the  engagement,  that 
he  was  made  aware  that  his  skill  was  not  as  the  skill 
of  Lagardere.  He  fought  desperately,  and  yet  warily, 
knowing  that  he  was  fighting  for  his  life,  and  trying 
without  success  every  cunning  trick  that  he  had 
learned  in  the  fencing-schools  of  Spain.  The  thrust 
of  Nevers  he  did  not  attempt,  for  of  that  he  knew 
Lagardere  commanded  the  parry,  but  there  were 
other  thrusts  on  which  he  relied  to  gain  the  victory, 
and  each  of  these  he  tried  in  succession,  only  to  be 
baffled  by  Lagardere's  instinctive  steel. 

Lagardere,  watching  him  while  they  fought,  hated 
his  adversary  for  his  own  sake  apart  from  his  com- 
plicity in  the  crime  of  Caylus.  ^sop  was  the  incar- 
nation of  everything  that  was  detestable  in  the  eyes 
of  a  man  like  Lagardere.  A  splendid  swordsman,  his 
sword  was  always  lightly  sold  to  evil  causes.  He 
prostituted  the  noble  weapon  that  Lagardere  idolized 
to  the  service  of  the  assassin,  the  advantage  of  the 
bully,  and  the  revenge  of  the  coward.  He  would  have 
felt  no  scruple  about  slaying  him,  even  if  yEsop  had 
not  been,  as  now  he  was,  a  dangerous  and  unexpected 
enemy  in  his  path. 

178 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

unable  to  make  Lagardere  break  ground, 
and  unable  to  get  within  Lagardere 's  guard,  now  be- 
gan to  taunt  his  antagonist  savagely,  calling  him  a 
child-stealer  and  a  woman- wronger,  with  other  foul 
terms  of  abuse  that  rolled  glibly  from  his  lips  in  the 
ugliness  of  his  rage  and  fear. 

Lagardere  listened  with  his  quiet  smile,  and  when 
the  hunchback  made  a  pause  he  answered  him  with 
scornful  good-humor.  "You  waste  your  breath,  Mas- 
ter .^Esop,"  he  said,  "and  you  should  be  saving  it 
for  your  prayers,  if  you  know  any,  or  for  your  fight- 
ing wind,  if  there  is  nothing  of  salvation  in  you.  You 
are  a  very  base  knave.  I  do  not  think  you  ever  did 
an  honest,  a  kindly,  or  a  generous  deed  in  your  life. 
I  know  that  you  have  done  many  vile  things,  and 
would  do  more  if  time  were  given  to  you;  but  the 
time  is  denied,  Master  ^sop,  and  yet  you  may  serve 
a  good  cause  in  your  death." 

Even  as  he  spoke  Lagardere 's  tranquillity  of  de- 
fence suddenly  changed  into  rapidity  of  attack.  His 
blade  leaped  forward,  made  sudden  swift  movements 
which  the  bravo  strove  in  vain  to  parry,  and  then 
^Esop  dropped  his  sword  and  fell  heavily  upon  the 
grass.  He  was  dead,  dead  of  the  thrust  in  the  face, 
exactly  between  the  eyes,  the  thrust  of  Nevers. 

Lagardere  leaned  over  his  dead  enemy  and  smiled. 
His  account  against  the  assassins  of  Caylus  was  being 
slowly  paid ;  but  never  had  any  item  of  that  account 
been  annulled  with  less  regret.  The  others — Staupitz, 
Saldagno,  Pinto,  and  the  rest  —  had  been  ruffianly 

179 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

creatures  enough,  but  there  was  a  kind  of  honesty,  a 
measure  of  courage  in  their  ruffianism.  They  were, 
at  least  some  of  them,  good-hearted  in  their  way,  true 
to  their  comrades  and  their  leaders ;  but  of  the  ignoble 
wretch  that  now  lay  a  huddle  of  black  at  his  feet, 
Lagardere  knew  nothing  that  was  not  loathsome,  and 
he  knew  much  of  Master  y£sop. 

Lagardere  stooped  and  gathered  a  handful  of  grass, 
wiped  his  sword  and  sheathed  it. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  apostrophizing  the  dead  body,  "you 
shall  serve  a  good  cause  now,  Master  ^sop,  if  you 
have  never  served  a  good  cause  yet." 

He  looked  anxiously  about  him  as  he  spoke  to  make 
sure  that  the  solitude  was  still  undisturbed.  There 
was  not  a  human  being  within  sight  on  either  bank 
of  the  river.  This  quiet,  this  isolation,  were  very  wel- 
come to  his  temper  just  then,  for  the  purpose  that 
had  come  into  Lagardere 's  mind  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  combat  had  matured,  had  ripened  during 
its  course  into  a  feasible  plan.  It  had  its  risks,  but 
what  did  that  matter  in  an  enterprise  that  was  all 
risk;  and  if  it  succeeded,  as,  thanks  to  its  very  daring, 
it  might  succeed,  it  promised  a  magnificent  reward. 
That  it  involved  the  despoiling  of  a  dead  body  in  no 
way  harassed  Lagardere.  He  was  never  one  to  let 
himself  be  squeamish  over  trifles  where  a  great  cause 
was  at  stake,  and,  though  much  that  was  inevitable 
to  the  success  of  his  scheme  was  repellent  to  him,  he 
choked  down  his  disgust  and  faced  his  duty  with  a 
smile.  Quickly  he  dragged  the  body  of  his  dead 

180 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

enemy  into  the  shelter  and  seclusion  of  the  orchard- 
trees.  There,  rolling  JEsop  on  his  face,  he  proceeded 
nimbly  and  dexterously  to  strip  his  clothes  from  his 
body.  Soon  the  black  coat,  black  vest,  black  breeches, 
black  stockings,  black  boots,  and  black  hat  lay  in  a 
pile  of  sable  raiment  on  the  orchard  grass.  As  he  gar- 
nered his  spoil,  a  little  book  dropped  from  the  pocket 
of  the  black  coat  and  lay  upon  the  grass.  Lagardere 
picked  it  up  and  opened  it  with  a  look  of  curiosity 
that  speedily  changed  to  one  of  aversion,  for  the  book 
was  a  copy  in  Italian  of  the  Luxurious  Sonnets  of 
Messer  Pietro  Arentino,  which  Lagardere,  who  knew 
Italian,  found  at  a  glance  to  be  in  no  way  to  his  taste, 
and  the  little  book  had  pictures  in  it  which  pleased 
him  still  less.  With  a  grunt  of  disgust  at  this  strange 
proof  of  the  dead  man's  taste  in  literature,  Lagardere 
stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  orchard,  and,  holding  the 
volume  in  his  finger  and  thumb,  pitched  it  over  the 
open  space  into  the  river,  where  it  sank.  Having 
thus  easily  got  rid  of  the  book,  Lagardere  began  to  cast 
about  him  for  some  way  to  dispose  of  the  body. 

The  boats  that  lay  alongside  of  the  little  landing- 
stage  caught  his  eye.  Lifting  Master  ^Esop's  corpse 
from  the  ground,  he  trailed  it  to  the  crazy  structure, 
and  placed  it  in  the  oldest  and  most  ramshackle  of  the 
two  weather-worn  vessels.  After  untying  the  rope 
that  fastened  the  boat  to  its  wharf,  Lagardere  caught 
up  a  boat-hook  that  lay  hard  by,  and,  raising  it  as  if 
it  were  a  spear,  he  drove  it  with  all  his  strength 
against  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  knocked  a  ragged 

181 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

hole  in  its  rotting  timbers.  Then,  with  a  vigorous 
push,  he  sent  the  boat  out  upon  the  smooth,  swift 
river. 

The  vigor  of  its  impetus  carried  the  boat  nearly  out 
to  the  middle  of  the  stream  before  the  river  could 
take  advantage  of  the  leak.  Then,  in  a  few  minutes, 
Lagardere  saw  the  strangely  burdened  craft  slowly 
sink  and  finally  settle  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
stream. 

When  the  boat  and  its  burden  were  out  of  sight,  and 
the  water  ran  as  smoothly  as  if  it  were  troubled  with 
no  such  secret,  Lagardere  turned,  and,  gathering  up 
the  garments  of  his  antagonist  as  a  Homeric  hero 
would  have  collected  his  fallen  enemy's  armor,  rolled 
them  into  as  small  a  bundle  as  possible,  and,  putting 
them  under  his  arm,  made  his  way  cautiously  back 
to  the  Inn. 

He  gained  its  shelter  unperceived.  Unperceived 
and  noiselessly  he  ascended  the  stairs  which  led  to 
his  room,  and,  opening  the  door,  flung  his  bundle  upon 
the  ground.  He  then  closed  the  door  again,  and, 
going  a  little  farther  down  the  corridor,  knocked  at 
an  adjoining  door,  which  immediately  opened,  and 
Gabrielle  stood  before  him  looking  pale  and  anxious. 
Lagardere  smiled  cheerfully  at  her,  and,  taking  from 
his  coat  the  white  rose  which  he  had  plucked  in  the 
garden,  offered  it  to  her. 

The  girl  caught  it  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and 
then  asked,  eagerly:  "The  man — where  is  the  man? 
What  has  become  of  him?" 

182 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Lagardere  affected  an  air  of  surprise,  and  then, 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  thought  the  matter  of 
no  importance,  answered  her:  "You  mean  my  friend 
in  black  who  spoke  to  me  just  now?" 

The  girl  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "he  seemed 
evil,  he  seemed  dangerous." 

Lagardere  smiled  reassuringly.  "  Evil  he  may  be," 
he  said,  "but  not  dangerous — no,  not  dangerous.  In- 
deed, I  am  inclined  to  think  he  will  be  more  useful  to 
us  than  otherwise." 

"  But  he  seemed  to  threaten  you,"  the  girl  protested. 

Lagardere  admitted  the  fact.  "He  was  a  little 
threatening  at  first,"  he  agreed,  "but  I  have  man- 
aged to  pacify  him,  and  he  will  not  trouble  us  any 
more." 

He  took  the  girl's  cold  hand  and  kissed  it  reveren- 
tially. "Gabrielle,"  he  said,  "we  go  to  Paris  to-day, 
but  till  I  come  for  you  and  tell  you  it  is  time  for  us 
to  depart  I  want  you  to  remain  in  this  chamber. 
You  will  do  this  for  me,  will  you  not  ?" 

"I  will  always  do  whatever  you  wish,"  the  girl  an- 
swered, and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Lagardere  was  filled  with  the  longing  to  clasp  her 
in  his  arms,  but  he  restrained  himself,  again  kissed 
her  hand  with  the  same  air  of  tender  devotion,  and 
motioned  to  her  to  enter  her  room.  When  she  had 
closed  the  door  he  returned  to  his  own  room,  and 
there,  with  amazing  swiftness,  divested  himself  of 
his  outer  garments  and  substituted  for  them  those 
of  the  dead  ^Esop. 

183 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Producing  a  small  box  from  a  battered  portmantle 
that  stood  in  a  corner,  he  produced  certain  pigments 
from  it,  and,  facing  a  cracked  fragment  of  unframed 
looking-glass  that  served  for  a  mirror,  proceeded  with 
the  skill  of  an  experienced  actor  to  make  certain 
changes  in  his  appearance. 

His  curiously  mobile  face  he  distorted  at  once  into 
an  admirable  likeness  to  the  hunchback,  and  then, 
this  initial  likeness  thus  acquired,  he  heightened  and 
intensified  it  by  few  but  skilful  strokes  of  coloring  mat- 
ter. Then  he  dexterously  rearranged  his  hair  to  re- 
semble the  hunchback's  dishevelled  locks,  compelling 
its  curls  to  fall  about  his  transformed  face  and  shade 
it.  Finally  he  surmounted  all  with  the  hunchback's 
hat,  placed  well  forward  on  his  forehead.  He  gave  a 
smile  of  satisfaction  at  the  resxtlt  of  his  handiwork, 
and  the  smile  was  the  malign  smile  of  ^sop. 

"That  is  good  enough,"  he  murmured,  "to  deceive 
a  short-sighted  fellow  like  Peyrolles,  and  as  for  his 
Highness  of  Gonzague,  he  has  not  seen  me  for  so 
many  years  that  there  will  be  no  difficulty  with  him." 

He  glanced  at  his  new  raiment  with  an  expression 
of  distaste.  "When  I  get  to  Paris,"  he  mused,  "I 
will  shift  these  habiliments.  It  is  all  very  well  to 
play  the  bird  of  prey,  but  it  is  somewhat  unpleasant 
to  wear  the  bird's  own  feathers." 


XVIII 

THE    FACTION    OF    GONZAGUB 

A  LITTLE  later  in  the  day  a  company  of  joy- 
ous gentlemen  made  their  way  from  the  fair  of 
Neuilly  and  came  to  a  halt  opposite  the  tavern  whose 
green  arbors  seemed  inviting  enough  after  the  heat 
of  the  dusty  road.  All  of  the  company  were  richly 
dressed,  most  of  the  company  were  young — the  joy- 
ous satellites  of  the  central  figure  of  the  party.  This 
was  a  tall,  graceful  Italianate  man,  who  carried  his 
fifty  years  with  the  grace  and  ease  of  thirty.  He  had 
a  handsome  face ;  those  that  admired  him,  and  they 
were  many,  said  there  was  no  handsomer  man  at  the 
court  of  the  king  than  the  king's  familiar  friend 
Louis  de  Gonzague.  A  man  of  the  hour  and  a  man 
of  the  world,  Gonzague  delighted  to  shine  almost 
unrivalled  and  quite  unsurpassed  in  the  splendid 
court  which  the  cardinal  had  permitted  the  king  to 
gather  about  him.  Something  of  a  statesman  and 
much  of  a  scholar,  Gonzague  delighted  to  be  the  patron 
of  the  arts,  and  to  lend,  indirectly,  indeed,  but  no 
less  efficaciously,  his  counsels  to  the  service  of  the 
cardinal  during  the  cardinal's  lifetime,  and  to  the 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

king  now  that  the  cardinal  was  gone.  A  man  of 
pleasure,  Gonzague  was  careful  to  enjoy  all  the  de- 
lights that  a  society  which  found  its  chief  occupa- 
tion in  the  pursuit  of  amusement  afforded.  Even  the 
youngest  cavalier  in  Paris  or  Versailles  would  have 
regretted  to  find  himself  in  rivalry  with  Gonzague 
for  the  favors  of  the  fair.  But  in  his  pleasures,  as  in 
his  policy,  Gonzague  was  always  discreet,  reserved, 
even  slightly  mysterious,  and  though  rumor  had  link- 
ed his  name  time  and  time  again  with  the  names  of 
such  gracious  ladies  as  the  cardinal  had  permitted  to 
illuminate  the  court  of  the  king,  Gonzague  had  al- 
ways been  far  too  cautious,  or  too  indifferent,  to  drift 
into  anything  that  could  in  the  least  resemble  an  en- 
during entanglement.  Indeed,  there  was  an  element 
of  the  Oriental  in  his  tastes,  which  led  him  rather  to 
find  his  entertainment  in  such  light  love  as  came  and 
went  by  the  back  ways  of  palaces  or  could  be  se- 
questered in  cheerful  little  country  villas  remote  from 
curious  eyes.  This,  however,  was  a  matter  of  gossip, 
rumor,  speculation.  What  was  certainly  known  about 
Louis  de  Gonzague  was  that  he  delighted  always  to  be 
surrounded  by  young  gentlemen  of  blood  and  spirit, 
with  whom  his  exquisite  affability  seemed  at  once  to 
put  him  on  a  footing  of  equal  age,  and  whose  devotion 
to  himself,  his  person,  and  his  purposes  he  was  always 
careful  to  acquire  by  a  lavish  generosity  and  that  pow- 
erful patronage  which  his  former  friendship  with  the 
cardinal  and  his  present  influence  over  the  king  al- 
lowed him  to  extend. 

186 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  proof  of  Gonzague's 
astuteness,  of  Gonzague's  suppleness,  was  afforded  by 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  succeeded  in  holding 
the  favor  of  the  great  cardinal  through  all  the  long 
years  of  Richelieu's  triumph,  and  yet  at  the  same 
time  in  retaining  so  completely  the  friendship  of  the 
king.  When  the  cardinal  died,  and  many  gentlemen 
that  served  the  Red  Robe  found  themselves  no  longer 
in  esteem,  Gonzague  passed  at  once  into  the  circle  of 
the  king's  most  intimate  friends.  Gonzague,  as  the 
comrade  of  a  ruling  potentate,  proved  himself  a  mas- 
ter of  all  arts  that  might  amuse  a  melancholic  sov- 
ereign newly  redeemed  from  an  age-long  tutelage,  and 
eager  to  sate  those  many  long-restrained  pleasures 
that  he  was  at  last  free  to  command.  Gonzague's 
ambition  appeared  to  be  to  play  the  Petronius  part, 
to  be  the  Arbiter  of  Elegancies  to  a  newly  liberated 
king  and  a  newly  quickened  court. 

Very  wisely  Gonzague  had  never  made  himself  a 
politician.  He  had  always  allowed  himself  to  appear 
as  one  that  was  gracefully  detached,  by  his  Italianate 
condition,  from  pledge  to  any  party  issues,  and  so  in 
his  suave,  affable  fashion  he  went  his  way,  liked  by 
all  men  who  knew  him  slightly,  counted  on  by  the 
few  men  who  believed  they  knew  him  well,  and  huge- 
ly admired  by  that  vast  congregation  of  starers  and 
gapers  who  passionately  display  their  approval  of  an 
urbane,  almost  an  austere,  profligacy. 

In  the  long  years  in  which  Gonzague  had  contrived 
to  establish  for  himself  the  enviable  reputation  of 

187 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  ideal  of  high  gentlehood,  he  had  very  quietly  and 
cautiously  formed,  as  it  were,  a  kind  of  court  within 
a  court — a  court  that  was  carefully  formed  for  the 
faithful  service  of  his  interests.  He  managed,  by 
dexterously  conferring  obligations  of  one  kind  or  an- 
other, to  bind  his  adherents  to  him  by  ties  as  strong 
as  the  ties  of  kinship,  by  ties  stronger  than  the  ties 
of  allegiance  to  an  unsettled  state  and  a  shadowy 
idea  of  justice.  There  was  a  Gonzague  party  among 
the  aristocracy  of  the  hour,  and  a  very  strong  party 
it  promised  to  be,  and  very  ably  guided  to  further 
his  own  ends  by  the  courteous,  so  seeming  amiable 
gentleman  who  was  its  head. 

About  him  at  this  moment  were  grouped  some  of 
the  joyous  members  of  that  jovial  sodality.  There 
was  Navailles,  the  brisk,  the  dissolute,  the  witty,  al- 
ways ready  to  risk  everything,  including  honor,  for 
a  cast  of  the  dice,  for  a  kiss,  for  a  pleasure  or  a  re- 
venge. There  was  Noce,  pleasure-loving,  pleasure- 
giving,  always  good-tempered,  always  good-humored, 
always  serenely  confident  that  the  world  as  it  existed 
was  made  chiefly  for  his  amusement  and  the  amuse- 
ment of  his  friends.  There  was  Taranne,  a  darker 
spirit,  as  ready  as  the  rest  of  the  fellowship  to  take  the 
wine  of  life  from  the  cup  of  joy  in  the  hands  of  the 
dancing-girl,  but  a  less  genial  drinker,  a  less  cheerful 
and  perhaps  more  greedy  lover  and  feaster,  as  one 
who  dimly  and  imperfectly  appreciates  that  the  con- 
ditions of  things  about  him  might  not  be  destined  to 
endure  forever,  and  was,  therefore,  resolved  to  get  as 

1 88 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

much  of  his  share  of  the  spoil  of  the  sport  while  it 
lasted  as  any  bandit  of  them  all.  There,  too,  was 
Oriol,  the  fat  country  gentleman,  at  once  the  richest 
and  most  foolish  of  the  company.  There,  too,  was 
Alb  ret,  who  loved  women  more  than  wine;  and  Gi- 
ronne,  who  loved  wine  more  than  women ;  and  Choisy, 
who  never  knew  which  to  love  the  best,  but  with 
whom  both  disagreed. 

At  the  present  moment  the  party  was  extremely 
hilarious.  Its  members  had  ransacked  the  toy-shops 
of  the  fair,  and  every  man  was  carrying  some  play- 
thing and  making  the  most  of  it,  and  extolling  its 
greater  virtues  than  the  playthings  of  his  fellows. 
Taranne  carried  a  pea -shooter,  and  peppered  his 
companion's  legs  persistently,  grinning  with  delight 
if  any  of  his  victims  showed  irritation.  Oriol  had  got 
a  large  trumpet,  and  was  blowing  it  lustily.  Noce" 
had  bought  a  cup-and-ball,  and  was  trying,  not  very 
successfully,  to  induce  the  sphere  to  abide  in  the  hol- 
low prepared  for  it.  Navailles  had  got  a  large  Pul- 
cinello  doll  that  squeaked,  and  was  pretending  to  treat 
it  as  an  oracle,  and  to  interpret  its  mechanical  ut- 
terances as  profound  comments  on  his  companions 
and  prophecies  as  to  their  fortunes.  Albret  was  trip- 
ping over  a  skipping-rope ;  Gironne  puffed  at  a  spin- 
ning windmill;  Choisy  played  on  a  bagpipes,  and 
Montaubert  on  a  flute.  In  the  background  Monsieur 
Peyrolles  watched  all  this  mirthfulness  with  indiffer- 
ence and  his  master's  face  with  attention. 

Gonzague  looked  round  upon  his  friends  with  the 
189 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

indulgent  smile  of  a  still  youthful  school-master  sur- 
rounded by  his  promising  pupils.  "Well,  gentlemen, 
does  the  fair  amuse  you?"  he  asked,  urbanely. 

Navailles  turned  to  his  doll  for  inspiration,  made  it 
give  its  metallic  squeak,  and  then,  as  if  repeating 
what  Pulcinello  had  whispered  to  him,  replied:  "  Enor- 
mously." 

Oriol  trumpeted  his  approval  loudly,  and  the  ex- 
pressions of  the  others  bore  ample  testimony  to  their 
enjoyment. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Gonzague,  "I  hope  and 
think  that  I  reserved  the  best  for  the  end."  He  made 
a  sign  to  Peyrolles,  who  approached  him.  "Where  is 
the  girl?"  he  questioned,  in  a  low  voice. 

Peyrolles  pointed  to  the  caravan.  "Shall  I  bring 
her?"  he  asked. 

Gonzague  nodded.  Peyrolles  crossed  the  grass,  his 
course  followed  curiously  by  the  eyes  of  Gonzague 's 
friends,  till  he  halted  at  the  caravan  and  knocked  at 
the  door.  Flora  put  out  her  head,  and,  recognizing 
Peyrolles,  greeted  him  with  an  eager  smile. 

"The  time  has  come,"  said  Peyrolles,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  for  you  to  dance  to  this  gentleman." 

Flora  touched  him  eagerly  on  the  arm.  "Which  is 
my  prince  ?"  she  asked. 

Peyrolles  gave  a  jerk  of  his  head  in  the  direction  of 
Gonzague,  and  answered:  "He  in  black  with  the  star." 

In  a  moment  Flora  had  retired  within  the  caravan, 
and  emerged  again  with  a  pair  of  castanets  in  her 
hands.  She  advanced  to  Gonzague  and  made  him  a 

190 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

reverence.  "Shall  I  dance  for  you,  pretty  gentle- 
man?" she  asked. 

Gonzague  watched  her  curiously,  seeing  in  one 
swift,  incisive  glance  that  she  might  very  well  serve 
for  his  purpose.  "With  afl.  my  heart,"  he  answered, 
courteously. 

He  seated  himself  at  a  table  under  the  trees,  with 
his  little  court  grouped  about  him,  and  Flora  began 
to  dance.  It  was  such  a  dance  as  only  a  Spaniard 
trained  in  the  gypsy  school  could  dance — a  dance  whose 
traditions  go  back  to  days  when  the  Roman  Empire 
was  old,  to  days  when  the  Roman  Empire  was  young. 
Now  active,  now  languid,  by  turns  passionate,  daring, 
defiant,  alluring,  a  wonderful  medley  of  exquisite  con- 
tradictions, the  girl  leaped  hither  and  thither,  clicking 
her  castanets  and  sending  her  bright  glances  like 
arrows  towards  the  admiring  spectators.  She  moved 
like  a  flame  fluttered  by  the  wind,  like  a  butterfly, 
like  a  leaf,  like  any  swift,  volatile,  shifting,  shimmer- 
ing thing.  She  seemed  as  agile  as  a  cat,  as  tireless  as 
a  monkey,  as  free  as  a  bird.  Suddenly  the  dance  that 
was  all  contradiction  ended  in  a  final  contradiction. 
At  the  moment  when  her  exuberance  seemed  keenest, 
her  vitality  fiercest,  her  action  most  animated,  when 
her  eyes  were  shining  their  brightest,  her  lips  smil- 
ing their  sweetest,  and  her  castanets  clicking  their 
loudest,  she  suddenly  became  rigid,  with  arms  extend- 
ed, like  one  struck  motionless  by  a  catalepsy,  her  face 
robbed  of  all  expression,  her  limbs  stiff,  her  arms  ex- 
tended. She  stood  so  for  a  few  seconds,  then  a  smile 

191 


THE  DUKE'S   MOTTO 

rippled  over  her  face,  her  arms  dropped  to  her  sides, 
and  she  seemed  to  swoon  towards  the  ground  in  a 
surrendering  courtesy.  The  dance  was  at  an  end. 

The  delighted  gentlemen  applauded  enthusiastical- 
ly. All  would  have  been  eager  to  seek  closer  acquaint- 
ance with  the  gypsy,  but  all  refrained  because  Gon- 
zague  himself  rose  from  his  seat  and  advanced  towards 
the  girl,  who  watched  him,  respectful  and  excited, 
with  lowered  lids. 

Gonzague  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  with  a  ca- 
ress that  was  almost  paternal  while  he  spoke:  "I  know 
more  about  you  than  you  know  yourself,  child.  Go 
back  now.  I  have  long  been  looking  for  you." 

Flora  could  scarcely  find  breath  to  stammer:  "For 
me?"  She  ventured  to  look  up  into  the  face  of  this 
grave  and  courtly  gentleman,  and  she  found  something 
very  attractive  in  the  dark  eyes  that  were  fixed  upon 
her  with  a  look  of  so  much  benevolence.  Gonzague 
pointed  to  Peyrolles,  who  was  standing  a  little  apart 
from  the  group  of  gentlemen. 

"Peyrolles  will  come  for  you  presently,"  he  said. 
"Peyrolles  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  Obey  him  im- 
plicitly." 

Flora  made  him  another  courtesy.  "Yes,  mon- 
seigneur,"  she  faltered,  and,  turning,  ran  swiftly  to  the 
caravan  and  disappeared  within  its  depths.  Each  of 
the  young  gentlemen  gladly  would  have  followed  her, 
but,  as  before,  they  were  restrained  by  the  action  of 
Gonzague,  who  seemed  to  have  taken  the  girl  un- 
der his  protection,  and  no  one  of  them  was  foolhardy 

192 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

enough  to  dream  of  crossing  Gonzague  in  a  pleasure 
or  a  caprice. 

But  during  the  progress  of  the  dance  there  had  been 
an  addition  to  the  little  group  of  gentlemen.  Chaver- 
nay  had  come  over  the  bridge,  with,  curiously  enough, 
Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  at  his  heels.  When  he  saw 
that  a  dance  was  toward,  he  made  a  sign  to  his  fol- 
lowers to  remain  upon  the  bridge,  while  he  himself 
mingled  with  his  habitual  companions.  When  the 
dance  was  over  and  Flora  had  disappeared,  Chaver- 
nay  advanced  to  Gonzague.  He,  at  least,  was  fool- 
hardy enough  for  anything.  "I  give  you  my  word, 
cousin,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  already  lost  the  half  of 
my  heart  to  your  dancer.  Are  we  rivals  with  the 
gypsy  lass,  cousin?" 

Gonzague  looked  urbanely  and  yet  gravely  at  his 
impudent  kinsman.  "You  must  look  for  love  else- 
where," he  said,  decisively.  "I  have  reasons,  though 
not  such  reasons  as  yours;  but  you  will  oblige  me." 

Chavernay  laughed  contentedly.  ' '  My  faith !  there 
are  plenty  of  pretty  women  in  the  world,  and  plenty 
of  ugly  men,  as  it  would  seem.  I  have  brought  you 
some  friends  of  yours." 

He  made  a  signal  as  he  spoke,  and  Cocardasse 
and  Passepoil,  descending  from  their  post  upon  the 
bridge,  advanced  towards  the  brilliant  group,  bowing 
grotesquely  as  they  did  so,  with  their  big  hats  in  their 
hands  and  their  long  rapiers  tilting  up  their  ragged 
cloaks.  All  the  party  gazed  in  amazement  at  the 
whimsical  apparitions,  to  the  great  indignation  of 

'3  193 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse,  who  whispered  angrily  to  his  compan- 
ion: "Why  the  devil  do  they  stare  at  us  so?"  While 
to  him  his  companion  replied,  soothingly:  "Gently, 
gently." 

The  gentlemen  were  screaming  with  laughter.  Ta- 
ranne  fired  a  volley  of  peas,  which  rattled  harmlessly 
against  the  long  boots  of  Passepoil.  Navailles  con- 
sulted his  oracle,  and  declared  that  he  liked  the  big 
one  best.  Oriol,  with  a  flourish  of  his  trumpet,  an- 
nounced that  he  preferred  the  smug  fellow.  Pey- 
rolles,  with  a  look  of  horror  on  his  face,  rushed  for- 
ward and  attempted  to  intercept  the  new-comers, 
but  he  was  too  late.  Cocardasse  was  already  in  front 
of  Gonzague,  and  had  made  him  a  tremendous  obei- 
sance. "We  have  the  honor  to  salute  your  highness," 
he  said,  sonorously. 

Gonzague  observed  him  with  well  -  restrained  as- 
tonishment, and  questioned  Chavernay:  "Who  are 
these — gentlemen  ?" 

Chavernay  was  eager  to  explain  that  he  had  come 
across  them  in  the  fair,  and  had  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  them.  After  some  conversation  he  found  that  they 
were  seeking  the  Prince  de  Gonzague,  and  thereupon 
he  had  consented  to  be  their  guide  and  to  present 
them.  At  this  point  Peyrolles  interposed.  Coming 
close  to  Gonzague,  he  whispered  something  to  him 
which  caused  for  a  moment  a  slight  expression  of  dis- 
like, almost  of  dread,  to  disturb  the  familiar  imper- 
turbability of  his  countenance.  Then  he  looked  at 
the  bravos.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  believe  it  is 

194 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

your  wish  to  serve  me.  A  man  can  never  have  too 
many  friends.  Gentlemen,  I  accept  your  services." 
He  turned  to  his  familiar,  and  ordered:  "Peyrolles, 
get  them  some  new  clothes." 

Peyrolles  hurriedly  beckoned  Cocardasse  and  Passe- 
poil  apart,  and  could  be  seen  at  a  little  distance  trans- 
ferring money  from  his  pocket  to  their  palms,  giving 
them  instructions,  and  finally  dismissing  them. 

Chavernay  looked  at  Gonzague.  "I  congratulate 
you  on  your  new  friends." 

Gonzague  shook  his  head.  "Judge  no  man  by  his 
habit.  Hearts  of  gold  may  beat  beneath  those  tat- 
ters." 

Chavernay  smiled.  "I  dare  say  they  are  no  worse 
than  most  of  your  friends." 

Taranne,  Noce",  Navailles,  Oriol,  Albret,  Choisy, 
Gironne,  and  Montaubert  caught  him  up  angrily. 
They  seemed  offended  at  the  suggestion.  Gonzague 
placated  them  with  a  phrase:  "Our  dear  Chavernay 
includes  himself,  no  doubt." 

Chavernay  accepted  the  suggestion.  "Oh  yes; 
there  is  devilishly  little  to  choose  between  any  of  us." 

The  impertinence  of  the  answer  and  the  imperti- 
nence of  the  speaker's  carriage  were  not  calculated  to 
smooth  the  ruffled  feelings  of  the  gentlemen,  but 
Chavernay  was  never  one  to  bridle  his  speech  in  defer- 
ence to  the  susceptibility  of  his  cousin's  satellites. 
He  now  eyed  them  mockingly,  even  provokingly,  full 
of  amusement,  while  they  fumed  and  fretted,  and 
hands  crept  to  hilts.  Cheerfully  courageous,  Chaver- 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

nay  was  prepared  at  any  moment  to  back  his  words 
with  his  sword.  Gonzague,  studying  the  lowering 
faces  of  his  adherents,  and  smiling  compassionately 
at  the  boyish  insolence  of  Chavernay,  interposed  and 
stifled  the  threatened  brawl.  "Come,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  graciously,  "let  there  be  no  bickering.  Chaver- 
nay has  a  sharp  tongue,  and  spares  no  one,  not  even 
me,  yet  I  am  always  ready  to  forgive  him  his  im- 
pudence." 

A  word  of  Gonzague  was  a  command — a  wish,  a 
law — to  his  faithful  followers,  and  their  countenances 
cleared  as  he  spoke.  Gonzague  went  on:  "His  Gra- 
cious Majesty  the  King  will  be  leaving  the  fair  soon, 
though  I  am  glad  to  think  that  it  seems  to  have  di- 
verted his  majesty  greatly.  Let  us  attend  upon  him, 
gentlemen."  Gonzague  emphasized  his  words  by 
leading  the  way  across  the  bridge,  and  Chavernay 
and  the  others  followed  at  his  heels,  a  laughing,  chat- 
tering, many -colored  company  of  pleasure  -  seekers. 
Only  Peyrolles  remained  behind. 

When  the  last  of  them  had  crossed  the  bridge  and 
was  far  away  upon  the  road  to  Neuilly,  a  man  came 
to  the  door  of  the  Inn  and  looked  thoughtfully  after 
them. 

The  man  was  clad  in  black  from  head  to  foot,  and 
his  body  was  heavily  bowed.  As  he  moved  slowly 
across  the  grass,  Peyrolles  hastened  towards  him, 
seeming  to  recognize  him.  "I  was  looking  for  you, 
Master  ^Esop,"  he  cried;  "I  have  good  news  for  you." 

The  hunchback  answered,  quietly:  "Good  news  is 
196 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

always  welcome."  And  to  the  ears  of  Peyrolles  the 
voice  was  the  voice  of  ^Esop,  and  to  the  eyes  of  Pey- 
rolles the  form  and  the  face  of  the  speaker  were  the 
form  and  the  face  of  ^Esop. 

Peyrolles  went  on:  "His  highness  the  Prince  de 
Gonzague  is  delighted  with  the  girl  you  have  found; 
she  will  pass  admirably  for  the  girl  of  Nevers." 

The  seeming  JEsop  nodded  his  head  and  said,  quiet- 
ly: "I  am  glad  to  hear  it." 

"The  Prince  wishes  to  see  you,"  Peyrolles  con- 
tinued. "The  Prince  wishes  you  to  enter  his  ser- 
vice. Master  ^Esop,  Master  JEsop,  your  fortune  is 
made,  thanks  to  me." 

"Thanks  to  me,  I  think,"  the  hunchback  com- 
mented, dryly. 

Peyrolles  shrugged  his  shoulders .  "As  you  please , ' ' 
he  said.  "Come  to  the  H6tel  de  Gonzague  to-morrow, 
and  ask  for  me." 

"I  will  come,"  the  hunchback  promised.  Then 
Peyrolles  hastened  over  the  bridge,  and  made  all  speed 
to  rejoin  his  master. 

When  he  was  well  on  his  way  the  hunchback  drew 
himself  into  a  chair,  laughing  heartily.  "Oh,  JEsop, 
JEsop,"  Lagardere  murmured  to  himself,  "how  vexed 
you  would  be  if  you  knew  how  useful  you  prove  to 
me!" 


XIX 

THE  HALL  OP  THE  THREE  LOUIS 

ONE  of  the  handsomest  rooms  in  the  Palace  of 
Gonzague,  as  the  Palace  of  Nevers  was  now  call- 
ed, was  known  as  the  Hall  of  the  Three  Louis.  It  was 
so  called  on  account  of  the  three  life-sized  portraits 
which  it  contained.  The  first  was  the  portrait  of  the 
late  duke,  Louis  de  Nevers,  in  all  the  pride  of  that 
youth  and  joyousness  which  was  so  tragically  ex- 
tinguished in  the  moat  of  Caylus.  His  fair  hair  fell 
about  his  delicate,  eager  face;  his  left  hand  rested 
upon  the  hilt  of  the  sword  he  knew  how  to  use  so 
well;  his  right  hand,  perhaps  in  the  pathos,  perhaps 
in  the  irony  of  the  painter's  intention,  was  pressed 
against  his  heart,  for  Louis  de  Nevers  had  been  a 
famous  lover  in  his  little  day,  but  never  so  true  a 
lover  as  when  he  wooed  and  won  the  daughter  of  the 
hostile  house  of  Caylus.  A  heavy  curtain  by  the 
side  of  the  picture  masked  an  alcove  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  Nevers. 

Facing  the  portrait  of  the  dead  duke  was  the  por- 
trait of  his  successor,  of  the  present  master  of  the 
house.  Louis  de  Gonzague,  in  all  other  things  a  con- 

198 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

trast  to  Louis  de  Nevers,  contrasted  with  him  most 
flagrantly  in  appearance.  Against  the  fair,  boyish 
face  of  Nevers  you  had  to  set  the  saturnine  Italianate 
countenance  of  Gonzague.  The  brilliancy  of  Louis 
de  Nevers  was  all  external,  bright  as  summer  is  bright, 
gay  as  summer  is  gay,  cheerful  as  summer  is  cheerful. 
The  brilliancy  of  Louis  de  Gonzague  showed  more 
sombrely,  as  melting  gold  flows  in  a  crucible.  No  one 
who  saw  the  picture  could  fail  to  deny  its  physical 
beauty,  but  many  would  deny  it  the  instant,  the 
appealing  charm  which  caught  at  the  heart  of  the 
spectator  with  the  first  glance  he  gave  to  the  canvas 
that  portrayed  Louis  de  Nevers.  In  contrast,  too, 
were  the  very  garments  of  the  two  men,  for  the  dead 
duke  affected  light,  airy,  radiant  colors — clear  blues, 
and  clear  pale-yellows,  and  delicate  reds  with  subtle 
emphasis  of  gold  and  silver;  but  the  splendor  of  Gon- 
zague's  apparel  was  sombre,  like  his  beauty,  with 
black  for  its  dominant  note,  and  only  deep  wine- 
colored  crimsons  or  fierce  ambers  to  lighten  its 
solemnity. 

The  third  picture,  which  was  placed  between  Louis 
de  Nevers  and  Louis  de  Gonzague,  was  the  portrait  of 
Louis,  not  as  he  now  looked,  being  King  of  France  in 
reality,  but  as  he  looked  some  seventeen  years  earlier, 
when  the  cardinal  was  beginning  his  career,  and  when 
the  peevishness  of  youth  had  not  soured  into  the  yel- 
low melancholy  of  the  monarch  of  middle  age. 

It  was  in  this  room,  consecrated  to  the  memory  of 
his  dead  friend,  to  the  honor  of  his  living  friend,  and 

199 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  the  glory  of  his  own  existence,  that  Louis  de  Gon- 
zague  loved  to  work.  It  was  a  proof  of  his  well- 
balanced  philosophy  that  he  found  nothing  to  trouble 
him  in  the  juxtaposition  of  the  three  pictures.  The 
great  double  doors  at  one  end  of  the  room  served  to 
shut  off  a  hall  devoted  for  the  most  part  to  the  private 
suppers  which  it  was  Louis  de  Gonzague's  delight  to 
give  to  chosen  friends  of  both  sexes,  and  when,  as 
often  happened,  supper  ended,  and  a  choice  company 
of  half-drunken  women  and  wholly  drunken  men 
reeled  through  the  open  doors  into  the  room  where 
the  three  Louis  reigned,  Gonzague,  who  himself  kept 
always  sober,  was  no  more  than  cynically  amused  by 
the  contrast  between  the  noisy  and  careless  crew 
who  had  invaded  the  chamber  and  the  sinister  gravity 
with  which  the  portraits  of  the  three  Louis  regarded 
one  another. 

The  king  himself,  who  sometimes  since  his  free- 
dom surreptitiously  made  one  at  these  merry  gather- 
ings, where  a  princely  fortune  and  a  more  than  prince- 
ly taste  directed  all  that  appealed  to  all  appetites — 
the  king  himself,  coming  flushed  from  one  of  these 
famous  suppers  into  the  sudden  coolness  and  quiet 
of  the  great  room,  would  appear  to  be  more  impressed 
than  his  host  at  the  sudden  sight  of  the  three  can- 
vases. Then,  in  a  voice  perhaps  slightly  unsteady, 
but  still  carrying  in  its  flood  the  utterance  of  a  steady 
purpose,  Louis  of  France  would  catch  Louis  de  Gon- 
zague by  the  wrist,  and,  pointing  to  the  bright,  smiling 
image  of  Louis  de  Nevers,  would  repeat  for  the  twen- 

200 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

tieth,  the  fiftieth,  the  hundredth  time  his  oath  of 
vengeance  against  the  assassin  of  his  friend  if  ever 
that  assassin  should  come  into  his  power.  And  hear- 
ing this  oath  for  the  twentieth,  the  fiftieth,  the  hun- 
dredth time,  Louis  de  Gonzague  would  always  smile 
his  astute  smile  and  incline  his  head  gravely  in  sign 
of  sympathy  with  the  king's  feelings,  and  allow  his 
fine  eyes  to  be  dimmed  for  an  instant  with  a  sugges- 
tion of  tears. 

The  room  was  an  interesting  room  to  any  one  curious 
as  to  the  concerns  of  the  Prince  de  Gonzague  for  other 
reasons  than  the  presence  of  the  three  pictures,  for 
to  any  one  who  knew  anything  about  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  palace  this  room  represented,  as  it  were, 
a  kind  of  debatable  land  between  the  kingdom  of 
Gonzague  on  the  one  side  and  the  kingdom  of  Nevers 
on  the  other.  A  door  on  the  left  communicated  with 
the  private  apartments  of  Louis  de  Gonzague.  Cross 
the  great  room  to  the  right,  and  you  came  to  a 
door  communicating  with  the  private  apartments  of 
Madame  the  Princess  de  Gonzague.  The  Prince  de 
Gonzague  never  passed  the  threshold  of  the  door  that 
led  to  the  princess's  apartments.  The  Princess  de 
Gonzague  never  passed  the  threshold  of  the  door  that 
led  to  the  prince's  apartments.  Ever  since  their 
strange  marriage  the  man  and  the  woman  had  lived 
thus  apart;  the  man,  on  his  part,  always  courteous, 
always  deferential,  always  tender,  always  ready  to 
be  respectfully  affectionate,  and  the  woman,  on  her 
part,  icily  reserved,  wrapped  around  in  the  blackness 

201 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  her  widowhood,  inexorably  deaf  to  all  wooing,  im- 
movably resolute  to  be  alone. 

What  rumor  said  was,  for  once,  quite  true.  The 
young  Duchess  de  Nevers,  on  the  night  of  her  mar- 
riage to  Prince  Louis  de  Gonzague,  had  warned  him 
that  if  he  attempted  to  approach  her  with  the  solicita- 
tions of  a  husband  she  would  take  her  life,  and  Louis 
de  Gonzague,  who,  being  an  Italian,  was  ardent,  but 
who,  being  an  Italian,  was  also  very  intelligent,  saw 
that  the  young  wife-widow  meant  what  she  said  and 
would  keep  her  word,  and  desisted  discreetly  from 
any  attempt  to  play  the  husband.  After  all,  he  had 
his  consolations:  he  controlled  the  vast  estates  of 
his  dead  friend  and  kinsman,  and  though  he  felt  for 
the  lady  he  had  married  a  certain  animal  attraction, 
which  easily  cooled  as  the  years  went  on,  his  passion 
for  the  wealth  of  Nevers  was  more  pronounced  than 
his  passion  for  the  wife  of  Nevers,  and  he  contented 
himself  easily  enough  with  the  part  assigned  to  him 
by  his  wife  in  the  tragi-comedy.  Every  day  he 
requested,  very  courteously,  through  Monsieur  Pey- 
rolles,  permission  to  wait  upon  the  princess,  and  every 
day  the  princess,  also  through  a  servant,  expressed 
her  regret  that  the  state  of  her  health  would  not  al- 
low her  the  pleasure  of  receiving  his  highness.  So  it 
nad  been  through  the  years  since  Louis  de  Nevers 
was  done  to  death  in  the  moat  of  Caylus. 

On  the  day  after  the  fair  at  Neuilly,  Louis  de  Gon- 
zague was  seated  in  the  room  of  the  Three  Louis 
busily  writing  at  a  table.  By  his  side  stood  Pey- 

202 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

rolles,  his  gorgeous  attire  somewhat  unpleasantly 
accentuating  the  patent  obsequiousness  with  which 
he  waited  upon  his  master's  will.  For  a  while  Gon- 
zague's  busy  pen  formed  flowing  Italian  characters 
upon  the  page  before  him.  Presently  he  came  to  an 
end,  reread  his  letter,  shook  over  the  final  writings 
some  silver  sand,  then  folded  it  and  sealed  it  leisurely. 
When  he  had  done  he  spoke  to  Peyrolles: 

"This  letter  is  to  go  to  his  majesty.  Send  Doiia 
Flora  here.  Stay!  Who  is  in  the  antechamber?" 

Peyrolles  answered  with  a  bow:  "The  Chevalier 
Cocardasse  and  the  Chevalier  Passepoil,  monseigneur." 

Gonzague  made  a  faint  grimace.  "Let  them  wait 
there." 

Peyrolles  inclined  profoundly.  "Yes,  monseign- 
eur," he  said,  and  waited.  The  long  knowledge  of 
his  master's  manner,  the  long  study  of  the  expression 
on  his  master's  face,  told  him  he  had  not  done  with 
him,  and  he  was  right,  for  in  a  moment  Gonzague 
spoke  to  him  again: 

"This  gypsy  girl  will  serve  the  turn  to  perfection. 
She  is  dark,  as  Gabrielle  de  Caylus  was  dark.  She  is 
beautiful,  not  so  beautiful  as  Gabrielle  de  Caylus  in- 
deed, but,  bah!  filia  pulchra,  matre  pulchrior.  Before 
the  king  to-day  I  will  produce  her.  The  princess  can- 
not but  accept  her.  If  afterwards  a  charming  young 
girl  should  die  of  a  decline — many  die  so — the  fortune 
of  Louis  de  Nevers  becomes  the  fortune  of  Louis  de 
Gonzague,  who  will  know  very  well  what  to  do  with 
it,  having  the  inestimable  advantage  of  being  alive." 

203 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  indulged  in  the  privilege  of  a  faint  little 
laugh  at  this  witticism  of  his  master,  but  apparently 
the  applause  did  not  please  Gonzague,  who  gave  him 
a  gesture  of  dismissal.  "Send  the  girl  to  me  at  once," 
he  said;  and  with  a  still  more  humble  salute  Pey- 
rolles quitted  the  apartment.  When  Gonzague  was 
alone  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes  staring  before  him  like 
one  who  dreams  waking.  Then  he  turned  and  glanced 
at  the  picture  of  Louis  de  Nevers,  and  an  ironical  smile 
wrinkled,  more  than  time  had  ever  done,  his  hand- 
some face.  Evidently  the  contemplation  of  the  pict- 
ure seemed  to  afford  him  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction, 
for  he  was  still  looking  at  it,  and  still  wearing  the  same 
amused  smile,  when  the  door  behind  him  opened  and 
Flora  came  timidly  into  the  room.  She  was  not  in 
appearance  the  same  Flora  who  had  dwelt  in  the 
caravan  and  danced  for  strangers  on  the  previous  day. 
She  was  now  richly  and  beautifully  dressed  as  a  great 
lady  should  be,  but  she  seemed  more  awkward  in  her 
splendid  garments  than  she  had  ever  seemed  in  the 
short  skirts  of  the  gypsy.  Gonzague,  whose  every 
sense  was  acute,  heard  her  come  in,  though  she  step- 
ped very  softly,  and  abandoned  his  contemplation  of 
the  picture  of  Louis  de  Nevers.  He  turned  round  and 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  made  her  one  of  his  exquisite 
salutations.  The  girl  drew  back  with  a  little  gasp 
and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  bosom. 

Gonzague  smiled  paternally.  "Are  you  afraid  of 
me?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  dubiously,  and  there  was 
204 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

suspicion  in  her  dark  eyes  as  she  asked:  "What  do 
you  want  of  me?" 

Gonzague  smiled  more  paternally  than  before.  "I 
want  you  to  love  me,"  he  said;  and  then,  seeing  that 
the  gipsy  lifted  her  brows,  he  continued,  leisurely: 
"Do  not  misunderstand  me.  Women  still  are  some- 
times pleased  to  smile  on  me.  I  do  not  want  such 
smiles  from  you,  child.  There  is  another  fate  for 
you.  Are  you  content  with  your  new  life  ?" 

Flora  answered  him  with  a  weary  tone  in  her  voice 
and  a  weary  look  on  her  pretty  face.  "You  have 
given  me  fine  clothes  and  fine  jewels.  I  ought  to  be 
content.  But  I  miss  my  comrades  and  my  wandering 
life." 

Gonzague  was  still  paternal  as  he  explained:  "You 
must  forget  your  wandering  life.  Henceforward  you 
are  a  great  lady.  Your  father  was  a  duke." 

Flora  gave  a  little  gasp,  and  questioned:  "Is  my 
father  dead?" 

Gonzague  allowed  his  chin  to  fall  upon  his  breast 
and  an  expression  of  deep  gloom  to  overshadow  his 
face.  "Yes,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  as  a  requiem 
to  buried  friendship. 

Flora's  heart  was  touched  by  this  display  of  friend- 
ship. "And  my  mother?"  she  asked. 

Gonzague's  face  lightened.     "Your  mother  lives." 

Flora  questioned  again,  this  time  very  timorously: 
"Will  she  love  me?" 

Gonzague  seemed  to  look  at  the  girl  sympathetical- 
ly, but  really  looked  at  her  critically.  He  found  her 

205 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

so  pleasing  to  his  eye  that  he  almost  regretted  that 
she  had  been  chosen  for  the  part  she  had  to  play, 
but  also  he  found  her  on  the  whole  so  suited  to  that 
part  that  he  felt  bound  to  stifle  his  regret.  "Surely," 
he  said,  and  smiled  kindly  upon  her. 

Flora  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "I  have 
always  dreamed  that  I  should  be  a  great  lady.  And 
dreams  come  true,  you  know — the  dreams  that  gyp- 
sies dream." 

Gonzague  raised  his  hand  to  check  her  speech. 
"Forget  the  gypsies.  Forget  that  the  gypsies  called 
you  Flora.  Your  name  is  Gabrielle." 

Flora  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  "Gabrielle!"  she 
said.  "How  strange!  That  is  the  name  of  my  dear- 
est friend." 

It  was  Gonzague's  turn  to  be  surprised,  but  he  never 
was  known  to  betray  an  emotion.  It  was  with  an  air 
of  complete  indifference  that  he  asked:  ' '  Who  is  she  ?" 

And  Flora  answered,  simply:  "A  girl  I  knew  and 
loved  when  we  were  living  in  Spain." 

Gonzague  knew  that  he  was  agitated ;  and  that  he 
had  every  reason  to  be  agitated,  but  he  knew  also 
that  no  one  beholding  him  would  know  of  his  agita- 
tion. "What  became  of  her?"  he  asked,  still  with 
the  same  apparent  indifference. 

And  Flora  answered  as  readily  as  before:  "We 
travelled  to  France  together." 

"Travelled  to  France  together!"  echoed  Gonzague. 

Perhaps,  in  spite  of  himself,  some  hint  of  keenness 
was  betrayed  in  the  voice  he  was  so  studious  to  keep 

206 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

indifferent,  for  this  time  Flora  gave  question  for 
question,  suspiciously:  "Why  does  all  this  interest 
you?" 

Gonzague's  voice  was  perfectly  indifferent  when  he 
replied:  "Everything  that  concerns  you  interests  me. 
Tell  me;  was  this  other  Gabrielle  a  Spaniard  like  you  ?" 

Flora  shook  her  head.     "Oh  no.     She  was  French." 

"Was  she,  too,  an  orphan?"  Gonzague  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Flora;  "but  she  had  a  guardian  who 
loved  her  like  a  father." 

The  gypsy  girl  could  not  guess  what  raging  passions 
were  masked  by  the  changeless  serenity  of  Gonzague's 
face.  "Who  was  that?"  he  asked,  as  he  might  have 
asked  the  name  of  some  dog  or  some  cat. 

And  he  got  the  answer  he  expected  from  the  girl: 
"A  young  French  soldier." 

Perhaps,  again,  Gonzague's  voice  was  keener  with 
his  next  question:  "Whose  name  was — " 

In  this  case  Flora,  suddenly  recalling  her  conversa- 
tion with  Gabrielle  on  the  previous  day,  became  as 
suddenly  cautious.  "I  have  forgotten  his  name," 
she  said,  and  looked  as  if  nothing  could  rekindle  her 
memory. 

Gonzague  affected  to  be  busy  with  some  of  the 
papers  that  lay  before  him,  and  then,  at  a  venture, 
and  as  if  with  no  particular  purpose  in  his  thoughts, 
he  said:  "I  wish  I  could  get  this  Gabrielle  to  be  your 
companion,  child." 

Flora  clapped  her  hands,  and  forgot  her  caution  in 
her  joy  at  the  prospect.  "Well,  that  might  be  done. 

207 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

I  will  tell  you  a  secret.  Gabrielle  and  her  guardian 
are  in  Paris." 

Underneath  the  table,  and  hidden  from  the  girl's 
sight,  Gonzague's  hands  clinched  tightly,  as  if  they 
were  clinching  upon  the  throat  of  an  enemy;  but  his 
face  was  still  quite  tranquil  as  he  said,  carelessly: 
"Where  are  they?" 

Flora's  voice  was  full  of  regret.  "Ah!  I  do  not 
know ;  but  they  were  at  the  fair  where  we  were  play- 
ing, and  I  know  that  they  are  coming  to  Paris." 

Gonzague  rose  to  his  feet  and  took  both  the  girl's 
hands  affectionately  in  his.  His  eyes  looked  affection- 
ately into  hers,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  kindness. 
"If  your  friend  can  be  found,  be  sure  that  I  will  find 
her  for  you.  And  now  go.  I  will  send  for  you  when 
the  time  comes  for  the  meeting  with  your  mother." 

Flora  clasped  her  hands  nervously.  "My  mother! 
Oh,  what  shall  I  say  to  her?"  she  cried. 

Gonzague's  smile  soothed  her  fears.  "Hide  noth- 
ing from  her,  for  I  am  sure  you  have  nothing  to  hide. 
Speak  the  loving  words  that  a  mother  would  like  to 
hear." 

With  a  grateful  look  at  her  newly  found  protector, 
Flora  darted  from  the  room,  and  Gonzague  was  left 
alone. 


XX 

A    CONFIDENTIAL   AGENT 

GONZAGUE  was  left  alone,  indeed,  only  in  a 
sense,  for  on  a  sudden  the  great  hall  with  its 
famous  pictures  had  become  the  theatre  of  fierce 
emotions  and  menacing  presences.  Just  at  the  mo- 
ment when  Gonzague  believed  his  schemes  to  be  at 
their  best  and  his  fortunes  to  be  nearing  their  top, 
he  was  suddenly  threatened  with  the  renewal  of  the 
old  terror  that  had  been  kept  at  bay  through  all  the 
years  that  had  passed  since  the  night  of  Caylus. 
Through  all  these  years  Lagardere  had  been  kept  from 
Paris,  at  the  cost,  indeed,  as  he  believed,  of  many 
lives,  but  that  was  a  price  Louis  de  Gonzague  was 
always  prepared  to  pay  when  the  protection  of  his 
own  life  was  in  question.  Now  it  would  seem  as  if 
Lagardere  had  broken  his  exile,  had  forced  his  way 
through  the  thicket  of  swords,  and  was  again  in  Paris. 
Nor  was  this  the  worst.  Just  when  Gonzague,  after 
all  his  failures  to  trace  the  missing  child  of  his  victim, 
just  when  he  had  so  ingeniously  found  a  substitute 
for  that  missing  child,  it  would  really  seem  as  if  the 
child  herself,  now  a  woman,  had  come  to  Paris  to 
14  209 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

defy  him  and  to  destroy  his  plans.  He  sat  huddled 
with  black  thoughts  for  a  time  which  seemed  to  him 
an  age,  but  was  in  reality  not  more  than  a  few  mo- 
ments; then,  extending  his  hand,  he  struck  a  bell  and 
a  servant  entered. 

"Tell  Peyrolles  I  want  him,"  the  prince  commanded, 
and  was  again  alone  with  his  dreads  and  his  dan- 
gers until  Peyrolles  appeared.  Gonzague  turned  to  his 
factotum.  "I  have  reason  to  suspect  that  Lagardere 
is  in  Paris.  If  it  be  true,  he  will  come  too  late.  The 
princess  will  have  accepted  the  gypsy  as  her  child, 
the  mother's  voice  will  have  spoken.  If  Lagardere 
is  in  Paris,  he  and  the  girl  must  be  found,  and  once 
found — " 

The  ivory-like  face  of  Peyrolles  was  quickened  with 
a  cunning  look.  "I  have  a  man  who  will  find  him  if 
any  one  can." 

Gonzague  turned  upon  him  sharply.     "Who  is  it  ?" 

"Monseigneur,"  said  Peyrolles,  "I  have  at  my  dis- 
posal, and  at  the  disposal  of  your  highness,  a  very 
remarkable  man,  the  hunchback  ^Esop.  He  was  in 
the  moat  of  Caylus  that  night.  He,  with  those  two 
you  saw  yesterday,  are  the  only  ones  left,  except — 

Peyrolles  paused  for  a  moment,  and  his  pale  face 
worked  uncomfortably.  Gonzague  interpreted  his 
thought.  "Except  you  and  me,  you  were  going  to 
say." 

Peyrolles  nodded  gloomily.  "As  JEsop,"  he  said, 
"has  been  in  Spain  all  these  years  hunting  Lagar- 
dere—" 

2IO 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Yes,"  Gonzague  interrupted,  "and  never  finding 
him." 

Peyrolles  bowed.  "True,  your  highness,  but  at 
least  up  to  now  he  has  kept  Lagardere  on  the  Spanish 
side  of  the  frontier,  kept  Lagardere  in  peril  of  his  life, 
^sop  hates  Lagardere,  always  has  hated  him.  When 
the  last  of  our  men  met  with  " — he  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  to  find  a  fitting  phrase,  and  then  continued 
— "the  usual  misfortune,  I  thought  it  useless  to  leave 
JEsop  in  Spain,  and  sent  for  him.  He  came  to  me 
to-day.  May  I  present  him  to  your  highness?" 

Gonzague  nodded  thoughtfully.  Any  ally  was  wel- 
come in  such  a  crisis.  "Yes,"  he  said. 

Peyrolles  went  to  the  door  that  communicated 
with  the  prince's  private  apartments,  and,  opening  it, 
beckoned  into  the  corridor.  Then  he  drew  back  into 
the  room,  and  a  moment  later  was  followed  by  a 
hunchbacked  man  in  black,  who  wore  a  large  sword. 
The  man  bowed  profoundly  to  the  Prince  de  Gon- 
zague. 

Peyrolles  introduced  him.  "This  is  the  man,  mon- 
seigneur." 

Gonzague  looked  fixedly  at  the  man.  He  could  see 
little  of  his  face,  for  the  head  was  thrust  forward  from 
the  stooping,  misshapen  shoulders,  and  his  long,  dark 
hair  hung  about  his  cheeks  and  shaded  his  counte- 
nance. The  face  seemed  pale  and  intelligent.  It  was 
naturally  quite  unfamiliar  to  Gonzague,  who  knew 
nothing  of  ^Esop  except  as  one  of  the  men  who  had 
played  a  sinister  part  in  the  murder  at  Caylus. 

211 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gonzague  addressed  him.  "You  know  much,  they 
tell  me?" 

The  man  bowed  again,  and  spoke,  slowly:  "I  know 
that  Lagardere  is  in  Paris,  and  with  the  child  of 
Nevers." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is?"  Gonzague  questioned. 

The  man  answered,  with  laconic  confidence:  "I  will 
find  out." 

"How?"  asked  Gonzague. 

The  hunchback  laughed  dryly.  ' '  That  is  my  secret. 
Paris  cannot  hold  any  mystery  from  me." 

Gonzague  questioned  again:  "Is  it  to  your  in-' 
terest  that  Lagardere  should  die?" 

"Indeed,  yes,"  the  hunchback  answered.  "Has  he 
not  sworn  to  kill  every  man  who  attacked  Nevers  that 
night?  Has  he  not  kept  his  word  well?  I  am  the 
last  that  is  left — I  and  Monsieur  Peyrolles,  for,  of 
course,  I  except  your  Excellence.  I  promise  you  I 
will  find  him,  but  I  shall  need  help." 

"Help?"  Gonzague  echoed. 

The  hunchback  nodded.  "He  is  a  dangerous  fel- 
low, this  Lagardere,  as  six  of  us  have  found  to  our 
cost.  Are  there  not  two  of  our  number  newly  in 
your  highness's  service?" 

"Cocardasse  and  Passepoil,"  Peyrolles  explained. 

The  hunchback  rubbed  his  hands.  "The  very  men. 
Will  your  highness  place  them  under  my  orders?" 

"By  all  means,"  Gonzague  answered,  and,  turning. 
to  Peyrolles,  he  said:  "They  are  in  the  antechamber; 
bring  them  in." 

212 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  turned  to  obey,  when  the  hunchback  de- 
layed him  with  a  gesture.  "Your  pardon,  highness," 
he  said;  "but  I  think  there  is  another  service  I  can 
render  you  to-day." 

"Another  service?"  Gonzague  repeated,  looking  at 
the  hunchback  with  some  surprise. 

The  hunchback  explained:  "Your  highness,  as  I 
understand,  has  summoned  for  this  afternoon  a  small 
family  council,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  consider- 
ing the  position  of  affairs  between  madame  the  prin- 
cess and  yourself." 

The  hunchback  paused.  Gonzague  nodded,  but 
said  nothing,  and  the  hunchback  resumed:  "Your 
real  purpose,  however,  as  I  understand,  is  to  present 
to  that  council  the  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  Nevers, 
whom  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  discover  in 
Spain.  You  wish  this  discovery  to  come  as  a  sur- 
prise to  madame  the  princess." 

Still  Gonzague  nodded,  still  Gonzague  kept  silence. 

"I  believe  that  you  have  requested  madame  the 
princess  to  attend  this  family  council,  and  that  up 
to  the  present  you  have  not  succeeded  in  obtaining 
her  assent." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Gonzague. 

"I  was  about  to  suggest,"  the  hunchback  went  on, 
"  if  your  highness  will  permit  me,  that  you  should 
employ  me  as  your  ambassador  to  madame  the  prin- 
cess. I  believe  I  could  persuade  her  to  be  present 
at  the  family  gathering." 

Gonzague  looked  at  the  man  in  astonishment. 
213 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"What  persuasions  could  you  employ,"  he  asked, 
"which  would  be  likely  to  succeed  where  mine  have 
failed?" 

Again  JEsop  made  an  apologetic  gesture  as  he 
pleaded  his  former  excuse.  "That  is  my  secret,"  he 
repeated;  "but,  prince,  if  you  employ  me  you  must 
let  me  attain  my  ends  by  my  own  means,  so  long  as 
you  find  that  those  ends  give  you  satisfaction  and 
are  of  service  to  your  purposes.  Though  I  am  by  no 
means" — here  he  laughed  a  little,  bitter  laugh — "an 
attractive  person,  I  believe  I  have  a  keen  wit,  and  I 
think  I  have  a  clever  tongue,  thanks  to  which  I  have 
often  succeeded  in  difficult  enterprises  where  others 
have  failed  ignominiously  —  at  least,  it  will  be  no 
harm  to  try." 

"Certainly,"  Gonzague  agreed,  "it  will  be  no  harm 
to  try.  If  the  princess  persists,  I  could,  of  course, 
in  the  end  compel  her  by  a  direct  order  from  the  king 
himself,  who  is  good  enough  to  honor  us  with  his 
presence  to-day." 

"But,"  the  hunchback  interrupted,  "it  would  be 
far  more  agreeable  to  you  if  the  princess  could  be 
induced  to  come  of  her  own  accord?" 

"Certainly,"  Gonzague  agreed. 

"Then,"  said  the  hunchback,  "have  I  permission 
to  approach  madame  the  princess  and  endeavor  to 
persuade  her  to  act  in  conformity  to  your  wishes?" 

"You  have,"  said  Gonzague,  decisively.  Some- 
thing in  the  hunchback's  manner  attracted  him.  The 
suggestion  of  mysterious  influences  appealed  to  his 

214 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Italian  spirit,  and  the  confidence  of  the  hunchback 
inspired  him  with  confidence.  He  pointed  to  the 
curtained  alcove. 

"Madame  the  princess,"  he  said,  gravely,  "comes 
every  day  at  this  hour  to  spend  some  moments  in 
contemplation  and  in  prayer  beside  the  picture  of  her 
former  husband.  That  alcove  shrines  his  sword.  By 
virtue  of  a  mutual  understanding,  this  room  is  always 
left  empty  daily  at  this  same  time,  that  madame  the 
princess  may  fulfil  her  pious  duty  untroubled  by  the 
sight  of  any  who  might  be  displeasing  to  her." 

Here  Gonzague  sighed  profoundly  and  summoned 
to  his  face  the  expression  of  a  much-wronged,  griev- 
ously misappreciated  man.  After  an  interval,  which 
the  hunchback  silently  respected,  Gonzague  resumed: 

"If  she  were  to  find  you  here  the  princess  might 
be,  would  be,  pained;  but  if,  indeed,  you  think  you 
have  any  arguments  that  would  serve  to  influence 
her  mind,  you  could  explain  your  presence  as  owing 
to  ignorance  due  to  the  newness  of  your  service  here." 

JEsop  nodded  sagaciously.  "I  understand,"  he 
said.  "Leave  it  to  me.  And  now  if  your  highness 
will  place  those  two  fellows  at  my  disposal,  I  will 
give  them  their  instructions." 

The  prince  rose  and  turned  to  Peyrolles.  "Send 
the  men  to  Master  ^Esop,"  he  commanded. 

Peyrolles  went  to  the  door  of  the  antechamber,  and 
returned  in  an  instant  with  Cocardasse  and  Passe- 
poil,  now  both  gorgeously  dressed  in  an  extravagant- 
ly modish  manner,  which  became  them,  if  possible, 

215 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

less  than  their  previous  rags  and  tatters.  Both  men 
saluted  Gonzague  profoundly,  and  both  started  at 
seeing  the  hunchback  standing  apart  from  them  with 
averted  face. 

Gonzague  pointed  to  the  hunchback.  "Obey  Mas- 
ter ^Esop,  gentlemen,  as  you  would  obey  me."  The 
two  bravos  bowed  respectfully.  Gonzague  turned  to 
the  hunchback  and  spoke  in  a  lower  tone:  "Find 
this  Lagardere  for  me,  and  we  will  soon  break  his 
invincible  sword." 

"How?"  the  hunchback  questioned,  with  a  faint 
note  of  irony  in  his  voice. 

Gonzague  continued:  "By  the  hands  of  the  hang- 
man, Master  ^sop.  Do  your  best.  Those  who  serve 
me  well  serve  themselves." 

The  hunchback  answered,  slowly:  "Whenever  you 
want  me,  I  am  here." 

Gonzague,  in  spite  of  himself,  started  at  the  hunch- 
back's last  words,  but  the  demeanor  of  JEsop  was  so 
simple  and  his  bearing  so  respectful  that  Gonzague 
was  convinced  that  their  use  was  purely  accident. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  must  prepare  for  the 
ceremony,"  he  said.  "Come  with  me,  Peyrolles," 
and  the  prince  and  his  henchman  quitted  the  apart- 
ment. 

The  hunchback  muttered  to  himself:  "The  sword 
of  Lagardere  has  yet  a  duty  to  perform  before  it  be 
broken."  Then  he  turned  to  Cocardasse  and  Passe- 
poil  where  they  stood  apart:  "Well,  friends,  do  you 
remember  me?" 

216 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Cocardasse  answered  him,  thoughtfully:  "Tis  a 
long  time  since  we  met,  JEsop." 

Passepoil,  as  usual,  commented  on  his  comrade's 
remark:  "It  might  have  been  longer  with  advan- 
tage." 

Indifferent  to  the  braves'  obvious  distaste  for  his 
society,  the  hunchback  continued:  "I  have  news  for 
you.  Lagardere  and  I  met  yesterday." 

Cocardasse  whistled.     "The  devil  you  did!" 

The  hunchback  coolly  continued:  "We  fought,  and 
I  killed  him." 

Cocardasse 's  air  of  distaste  was  suddenly  transmut- 
ed into  a  raging,  blazing  air  of  hatred.  He  swore 
a  great  oath  and  sprang  forward.  "Then,  by  the 
powers,  I  will  kill  you!" 

"So  will  I!"  cried  Passepoil,  no  less  furious  than 
his  friend,  and  advanced  with  him.  But  when  the 
pair  were  close  upon  the  hunchback  he  suddenly 
drew  himself  up,  flung  back  the  hair  from  his  face, 
and  faced  them,  crying,  "I  am  here!" 

Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  paused,  gasping.  Both 
had  one  name  on  their  lips,  and  the  name  was  the 
name  of  Lagardere.  In  another  moment  Lagardere 
was  stooping  again,  the  long  hair  was  falling  about 
his  face,  and  the  two  men  could  scarcely  believe  that 
^sop  was  not  standing  before  them.  "Hush!  To 
you  both,  as  to  all  the  world,  I  am  ^sop,  Gonzague's 
attendant  devil.  Now  I  have  work  for  you.  Go 
to-night  at  eleven  to  No.  7,  Rue  de  Chantre."  As  he 
spoke  he  drew  a  letter  from  his  coat  and  gave  it  to 

217 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Cocardasse.  "Give  this  letter  to  the  young  lady 
who  lives  there.  I  have  warned  her  of  your  coming. 
I  have  told  her  what  she  is  to  do.  She  will  accom- 
pany you  unquestioningly.  I  have  to  trust  to  you 
in  this,  friends,  for  I  have  my  own  part  to  play,  and, 
by  my  faith,  it  is  the  hardest  part  I  have  ever  played 
in  my  life."  He  laughed  as  he  spoke;  then  he  drew 
from  his  breast  another  packet  and  handed  it  to 
Passepoil.  "Here,"  he  said,  "are  three  invitations 
for  the  king's  ball  to-night — one  for  the  girl  you  will 
escort,  one  for  each  of  you.  When  you  go  to  the 
house  you  will  wait  till  the  girl  is  ready,  and  then  you 
will  escort  her  to  the  king's  ball  in  the  Palais  Royal 
at  midnight,  and  bring  her  into  the  presence  of  the  king 
by  the  royal  tent  near  the  round  pond  of  Diana." 

"I  will  do  that  same,"  said  Cocardasse,  cheerfully. 

"Never  let  her  out  of  your  sight  at  the  ball,"  Lagar- 
dere  insisted. 

"Devil  a  minute,"  Passepoil  affirmed. 

"Let  no  one  speak  to  her,"  Lagardere  continued. 

"Devil  a  word,"  said  Cocardasse. 

As  the  hunchback  seemed  to  have  no  further  in- 
structions for  them,  the  pair  made  to  depart,  but 
Lagardere  restrained  them,  saying:  "Ah,  wait  a  mo- 
ment. We  are  all  the  toys  of  fate.  If  any  unlucky 
chance  should  arise,  come  to  me  in  the  presence  of 
the  king  and  fling  down  your  glove." 

"I  understand,"  said  Cocardasse. 

Lagardere  dismissed  them.  "Then,  farewell,  old 
friends,  till  to-night." 

218 


XXI 

THE    PRINCESS    DE    GONZAGUE 

WHEN  Lagardere  was  left  alone  he  placed  him- 
self at  the  table  where  Gonzague  had  been  sit- 
ting so  short  a  time  before,  and,  taking  pen  and  paper, 
wrote  rapidly  a  short  letter.  When  he  had  folded 
and  sealed  this,  he  rose,  and,  crossing  the  room,  went 
to  the  door  which  opened  on  the  antechamber  to 
the  princess's  apartments.  Here  he  found  a  ser- 
vant waiting,  wearing  the  mourning  livery  of  Nevers, 
to  whom  he  gave  the  letter,  telling  him  that  it  was 
urgent,  and  that  it  should  be  delivered  to  the  prin- 
cess at  once.  When  he  had  done  this  he  returned  to 
the  great  room  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down  it, 
surveying  in  turn  each  of  the  three  pictures  of  the 
three  friends  who  had  been  called  the  Three  Louis. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  before  the  picture  of  Louis 
de  Nevers.  "Louis  de  Nevers,"  he  said,  softly,  "you 
shall  be  avenged  to-night." 

He  moved  a  little  away,  and  paused  again  before 
the  portrait  of  the  king.  "Louis  of  France,"  he 
said,  "you  shall  be  convinced  to-night." 

A  third  time  he  resumed  his  walk,  and  a  third  time 
219 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

he  paused,  this  time  before  the  portrait  of  the  Prince 
de  Gonzague.  Here  he  stood  a  little  while  longer  in 
silence,  studying  curiously  the  striking  lineaments  of 
his  enemy,  that  enemy  who,  through  all  the  change 
of  years,  had  retained  the  grace  and  beauty  repre- 
sented on  the  canvas.  "Louis  de  Gonzague,"  he 
murmured,  "you  shall  be  judged  to-night." 

Then  he  resumed  his  steady  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room,  with  his  hands  clasped  lightly  behind  his 
humped  shoulders,  busy  in  thought.  For,  indeed,  he 
had  much  to  think  of,  much  to  plan,  much  to  execute, 
and  but  little  time  in  which  to  do  what  he  had  to  do. 
Fortune  had  greatly  favored  him  so  far.  The  friends 
he  had  summoned  had  come  at  his  call.  One  more  of 
his  enemies  had  been  swept  from  his  path,  and  by  the 
destruction  of  that  enemy  he  had  been  able,  thanks 
to  his  old  training  as  a  play-actor,  to  enter  unsuspect- 
ed into  the  household  and  the  councils  of  the  man 
who  most  hated  him,  of  the  man  whom  he  most  hated. 
But,  though  much  was  done,  there  was  yet  much  to 
do,  and  it  needed  all  his  fortitude,  all  his  courage,  and 
all  his  humor  to  face  without  hesitation  or  alarm  the 
problems  that  faced  him. 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  opening  of 
a  door,  and,  turning  rapidly,  he  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  a  woman  clad  entirely  in  black,  whom  he 
knew  at  once,  in  spite  of  the  ravages  that  time  and  an 
unchanging  grief  had  wrought  upon  her  beauty,  to 
be  the  Princess  de  Gonzague,  the  widow  of  Nevers. 
The  princess  was  accompanied  by  a  lady-in-waiting, 

220 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

a  woman  older  than  herself,  and,  like  herself,  clad 
wholly  in  black,  on  whose  arm  she  leaned  for  support. 
Lagardere  bowed  respectfully  to  the  woman  he  had 
last  seen  so  many  years  before  in  the  short  and  ter- 
rible interview  in  the  moat  at  Caylus. 

"You  requested  to  see  me,"  the  princess  said, 
gravely  and  sternly. 

"I  requested  permission  to  wait  upon  you,"  Lagar- 
dere answered,  deferentially. 

"You  are,"  the  princess  continued,  "I  presume, 
in  the  service  of  the  Prince  de  Gonzague  ?" 

Lagardere  bowed  in  silence. 

"It  is  not  my  custom,"  the  princess  said,  "to  re- 
ceive messengers  from  his  highness,  but  it  is  my  cus- 
tom daily  to  visit  these  rooms  for  a  few  moments  at 
this  time  to  look  at  one  of  the  pictures  they  contain, 
and  at  this  time  his  highness  leaves  the  room  at  my 
disposal.  From  the  earnestness  of  your  letter,  I  have, 
therefore,  consented  to  see  you  here  in  the  course  of 
this,  my  daily  pilgrimage.  What  have  you  got  to  say 
to  me?" 

"Your  highness,"  said  Lagardere,  "I  am,  as  you 
imagine,  in  the  service  of  his  highness  the  Prince  de 
Gonzague,  but  I  have  been  out  of  France  for  many 
years,  and  know  little  or  nothing  of  the  events  which 
have  taken  place  in  my  absence.  I  understand,  how- 
ever, that  there  is  to  be  a  family  council  held  in  the 
palace  to-day,  and  that  it  is  my  master's  earnest  wish 
that  you  should  be  present  at  that  council." 

The    princess  drew  herself  up  and  surveyed  the 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

hunchback  coldly.  "There  is  no  need,"  she  said,  "for 
any  such  council  nor  any  need  for  my  presence.  I 
have  told  your  master  so  already,  and  do  not  see  why 
I  should  be  importuned  to  repeat  my  words." 

Lagardere  bowed  again,  and  made  as  if  to  retire. 
Then,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  something,  he  drew 
from  his  breast  a  small,  sealed  package.  "As  I  was 
coming  to  the  H6tel  de  Gonzague  this  morning,"  he 
said,  "a  man  whom  I  do  not  know  stopped  me  in  the 
street  and  gave  me  this  package,  with  the  request  that 
I  should  deliver  it  to  your  highness.  I  explained  to 
the  man  that  I  was  in  the  service  of  his  highness  the 
Prince  de  Gonzague,  and  had  not  the  honor  of  being 
included  among  your  highness's  servants.  But  the 
man  still  pressed  me  to  take  charge  of  this  packet, 
asking  me  to  deliver  it  to  the  care  of  one  of  your  high- 
ness's  women,  and  I  should  have  done  so  but  that  I 
thought  upon  reflection  it  might  be  better,  if  possible, 
to  deliver  it  into  your  own  hands." 

As  he  spoke  he  extended  the  package,  which  the 
princess  received  in  silence  and  scrutinized  carefully. 
It  was  addressed  to  her  in  a  handwriting  that  was 
wholly  unfamiliar,  and  carefully  sealed  with  seals  in 
black  wax,  that  bore  the  impression  of  the  word 
"Adsum."  The  princess  looked  keenly  at  the  hunch- 
back, who  stood  quietly  before  her  with  bent  head 
in  an  attitude  of  respectful  attention. 

"Do  you  know  anything  further  respecting  this 
package?"  the  princess  asked. 

Lagardere  shook  his  head.  "I  have  told  your  high- 
222 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

ness,"  he  said,  "all  I  know  of  the  matter.  I  never 
saw  the  man  who  gave  it  to  me.  I  do  not  think  I 
should  know  him  again." 

The  princess  again  examined  the  packet  closely, 
and  then,  advancing  to  the  table,  seated  herself  for 
a  moment  and  broke  the  seals.  The  contents  of  the 
packet  seemed  to  startle  her,  for  she  suddenly  turned 
to  her  waiting-woman  and  beckoned  her  to  her  side. 
Then,  with  a  gesture,  she  motioned  to  Lagardere  to 
stand  farther  apart.  Lagardere  withdrew  to  the  re- 
motest corner  of  the  apartment,  and  seemed  lost  in 
contemplation  of  the  portrait  of  Louis  de  Gonzague. 

The  princess  spoke  to  her  companion  in  low,  hur- 
ried tones.  "Brigitte,"  she  said,  "here  is  something 
strange."  And  she  showed  her  a  little  book  which 
she  had  taken  from  the  packet.  "This  is  the  prayer- 
book  which  I  gave  to  my  husband  at  Caylus  seven- 
teen years  ago,  and  see  what  is  written  in  it."  And 
she  pointed  to  some  words  which  were  written  on  the 
blank  page  inside  the  cover  in  the  same  handwriting 
as  that  in  which  the  packet  was  addressed.  These 
words  the  princess  read  over  to  her  companion: 

"  'God  will  have  pity  if  you  have  faith.  Your  child 
lives  and  shall  be  restored  to  you  to-day.  Distrust 
Gonzague  more  than  ever.  Remember  the  motto  of 
Louis  de  Nevers.  During  the  council  sit  near  his 
picture,  and  at  the  right  time,  for  you  and  for  you 
alone,  the  dead  shall  speak.'"  These  words  were 
signed,  "Henri  de  Lagardere." 

The  princess  turned  and  beckoned  to  the  hunch- 
223 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

back,  who  immediately  approached  her.  "You  are 
my  husband's  servant,"  she  said.  "Are  you  much  in 
his  confidence?" 

"Madame,"  Lagardere  replied,  "I  am  too  new  to 
Paris  to  consider  myself  in  any  sense  the  confidential 
servant  of  his  highness,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  I 
hope  to  serve  him  as  he  deserves  to  be  served." 

The  princess  seemed  thoughtful,  then  she  asked 
again:  "Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man  named  Henri  de 
Lagardere?" 

The  hunchback  appeared  agitated.  "Madame,"  he 
replied,  "Henri  de  Lagardere  is  the  enemy  of  my  mas- 
ter, and  he  is  my  enemy.  I  have  been  seeking  him 
unsuccessfully  for  many  years,  both  in  my  master's 
interests  and  in  my  own." 

The  princess  rose.  "Enough,  sir,"  she  said.  "I 
will  consider  his  highness's  wishes.  Come,  Brigitte." 

Holding  the  packet  in  her  hand  and  leaning  on  her 
companion's  arm,  she  went  towards  the  picture  of 
Louis  de  Nevers  and  knelt  for  a  moment  in  prayer. 
Then  she  rose  and  silently  quitted  the  room,  still 
leaning  on  Brigitte 's  arm. 


XXII 

THE    FAMILY   COUNCIL 

I AGARDERE  remained  alone  for  a  while  in  the 
L/  room,  pensively  contemplating  the  portraits  of 
the  Three  Louis.  Then  the  sound  of  footsteps  came 
to  his  ears,  footsteps  advancing  from  many  directions, 
footsteps  all  making  towards  the  great  hall.  He 
smiled  as  a  man  smiles  who  is  prepared  to  encounter 
cheerfully  great  odds,  and  then,  as  if  there  were  ob- 
serving eyes  upon  him,  though  indeed  no  eyes  beheld 
him  save  those  that  were  painted  in  the  canvases  of 
the  three  friends,  he  slouched  across  the  room,  more 
markedly  the  hunchback  than  ever,  till  he  came  to 
the  curtained  door  by  the  side  of  the  picture  of  Louis 
de  Nevers.  He  lifted  the  curtain,  glanced  round  him 
for  a  moment  at  the  empty  room,  and  then  dipped 
behind  the  curtain. 

The  curtain  fell,  the  room  was  empty,  save  for  the 
painted  presences  of  the  Three  Louis.  But  the  room 
was  not  empty  long.  A  few  moments  later  Gon- 
zague  entered  the  room  respectfully  escorting  his 
illustrious  master  and  friend,  Louis  of  France.  At 
their  heels  followed  a  little  crowd  of  notabilities, 
is  225 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

eminent  lawyers,  eminent  ecclesiastics,  all  of  whom 
had  claim,  by  virtue  of  their  kinship  or  by  virtue  of 
their  authority  on  delicate,  contested  family  mat- 
ters, to  a  seat  and  a  voice  in  the  council  that  Louis 
of  Gonzague  had  been  pleased  to  summon.  After 
these  again  came  Gonzague 's  own  little  tail  of  parti- 
sans, Navailles  and  Noce",  Taranne  and  Oriol,  Choisy 
and  Gironne,  Albret  and  Montaubert,  with  Chavernay 
fluttering  about  them  like  an  impudent  butterfly, 
laughing  at  them,  laughing  at  his  august  cousin, 
laughing  at  the  king,  laughing  at  himself — laughing 
at  everything.  To  him  such  a  family  gathering  as 
this  which  he  attended  was  almost  the  most  ridiculous 
thing  imaginable  on  the  face  of  the  whole  world,  and 
therefore  deserving  of  consideration,  if  not  of  serious 
consideration. 

The  king  took  his  place  upon  the  kind  of  little 
throne  which  had  been  set  apart  for  him.  The  rest 
of  the  company  arranged  themselves  with  instinctive 
sense  of  precedence  upon  the  chairs  that  were  ranged 
behind  it.  To  Chavernay  the  whole  thing  looked  like 
a  pompous  parody  of  a  trial  where  there  was  nobody 
to  be  tried,  and  he  made  unceasing  jokes  to  his  neigh- 
bors, which  compelled  them  to  laugh.  This  earned 
for  him  a  disapproving  glance  from  the  dark  eyes  of 
Gonzague,  which  had  no  effect  whatever  in  depressing 
his  spirits. 

When  all  the  guests  were  duly  seated,  Gonzague 
gravely  rose,  and,  turning  towards  the  king,  saluted 
him  respectfully.  "I  thank  your  majesty,"  he  said, 

226 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"for  honoring  us  on  this  occasion,  when  matters  of 
great  moment  to  me  and  to  the  lady  whom  I  am  proud 
to  call  my  wife,  and  to  the  great  family  with  which 
I  am  associated  at  once  by  ties  of  blood  and  alliance, 
are  in  question.  Your  majesty  will  readily  under- 
stand that  nothing  but  the  gravest  sense  of  duty 
could  have  urged  me  to  bring  together  so  learned,  so 
just,  so  brilliant  an  assembly  of  men  to  deal  with 
delicate  matters  which  have  perhaps  been  too  long  left 
undealt  with.  Such  differences  of  opinion  as  may  per- 
haps be  admitted  to  exist  between  madame  the  Prin- 
cess de  Gonzague  and  myself,  however  trivial  in  the 
beginning,  have  in  a  sense  grown  with  the  passing  of 
time  into  an  importance  which  calls  imperatively  for 
some  manner  or  form  of  adjustment." 

He  paused  in  his  speech,  as  if  to  control  his  emotions 
and  to  collect  his  thoughts.  The  king  leaned  forward 
and  addressed  him.  "Does  any  one,"  he  asked,  "ap- 
pear here  for  madame  the  Princess  de  Gonzague?" 

Gonzague  looked  about  him  with  a  melancholy 
glance.  "I  had  hoped,  sire,"  he  said,  "that  madame 
the  princess  would  have  chosen  some  one  to  represent 
her."  But  even  as  he  spoke  he  paused,  for  the  door 
that  led  to  the  princess's  apartment  was  thrown  open, 
and  the  Princess  de  Gonzague  appeared,  clad  in  black 
as  usual,  and  as  usual  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her 
faithful  Brigitte. 

As  the  princess  entered  the  room,  every  one  rose, 
and  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  stately  figure  and 
melancholy  features  of  the  still  beautiful,  if  prema- 

327 


THE   DUKE'S  MOTTO 

turely  aged,  widow  of  Nevers.  The  princess  made 
a  deep  inclination  to  the  king,  and  then  spoke: 
"  Your  majesty,  I  need  no  one  to  represent  me.  I 
am  here." 

Gonzague  allowed  his  features  to  betray  the  satis- 
faction he  felt  at  the  presence  of  his  consort.  He  has- 
tened to  advance  to  her  as  she  seated  herself  close  to 
the  curtained  alcove,  saying  as  he  did  so:  "Madame, 
you  are  indeed  welcome."  And  there  was  a  sincerity 
in  his  tone  not  always  characteristic  of  his  utterances. 

The  king  bowed  in  his  courtliest  manner  to  the 
unhappy  lady,  and  addressed  her:  "Princess,  you 
know  why  we  are  assembled  here?" 

Slowly  the  princess  inclined  her  head.  "I  do," 
she  said,  and  said  no  more,  but  sat  looking  fixedly 
before  her,  the  image  of  a  patience  that  shielded  a 
strong  purpose  and  a  resignation  that  was  now 
kindled  by  a  new  hope. 

The  king  turned  to  his  friend  and  host:  "Prince 
de  Gonzague,  we  await  your  pleasure." 

Louis  de  Gonzague  rose  to  his  feet  and  surveyed 
his  assembled  guests  with  a  grave  countenance  that 
seemed  to  suggest  boldness  without  effrontery  and  a 
grief  nobly  borne.  All  present  admired  his  beauty, 
his  dignity,  the  proud  humility  of  his  carriage  tow- 
ards the  great  lady  who  was  in  name  his  wife.  Many 
sympathized  with  him  in  what  they  knew  to  be  his 
strange  position,  and  felt  that  the  princess  was  indeed 
to  blame  in  refusing  friendship  and  sympathy  to  such 
a  man. 

228 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gonzague  bowed  respectfully  to  the  king,  and  his 
eyes  travelled  over  the  whole  range  of  his  audience 
as  he  spoke.  "Sire,"  he  said,  "I  have  to  speak  to- 
day of  the  sorrow  that  has  haunted  me,  as  it  has 
haunted  your  majesty,  for  seventeen  years.  Louis  de 
Lorraine,  Duke  de  Nevers,  was  my  cousin  by  blood, 
my  brother  by  affection.  His  memory  lives  here, 
eternal  as  is  the  grief  of  his  widow,  who  has  not  dis- 
dained to  wear  my  name  after  wearing  his." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  in  that  pause  the 
princess  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  shaken  with  emo- 
tion, in  spite  of  her  determination  to  be  firm:  "Do 
not  speak  of  that.  I  have  passed  those  seventeen 
years  in  solitude  and  in  tears." 

Gonzague  paid  to  her  and  her  sorrow  the  homage 
of  a  bow;  then  he  resumed:  "When  madame  the  prin- 
cess did  me  the  honor  to  accept  my  name,  she  made 
public  her  secret  but  legitimate  marriage  with  the 
late  Duke  de  Nevers  and  the  birth  of  a  daughter  of 
that  union.  This  child  disappeared  on  the  night  of 
Nevers's  death.  The  registration  of  its  birth  is  torn 
out  of  the  chapel  register  and  lost.  For  seventeen 
years  the  princess  has  patiently  sought  for  her  lost 
child,  and  has  sought  in  vain." 

The  princess  sighed:  "Alas!"  Gonzague  paused  for 
a  moment  as  if  to  allow  the  princess  to  say  more,  and 
then,  seeing  she  kept  silent,  he  continued:  "Ca- 
lumniators have  hinted  that  it  was  my  wish  that 
the  child  should  not  be  found.  Have  they  not, 
madame?" 

229 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"Such  things  have  been  said,"  the  princess  replied, 
gravely. 

Again  Gonzague  spoke:  "There  were  even  those 
who  hinted  that  my  hand  might  strike  at  a  child's  life. 
Is  not  that  so  ?" 

Again  the  princess  repeated  her  former  phrase: 
"Such  things  have  been  said." 

Now  Gonzague  questioned  her  directly:  "And  you 
believed  the  accusation?" 

The  princess  inclined  her  head:  "I  believed  it." 

At  this  reply  a  murmur  not  to  be  repressed  ran 
through  the  assembly.  Those  that  sympathized  with 
Gonzague  before  now  sympathized  more  deeply  on 
hearing  such  an  answer  come  so  coldly  from  his  wife's 
lips.  Gonzague  allowed  himself  the  luxury  of  a  lit- 
tle, patient  sigh,  the  privileged  protest  of  the  good 
and  just  under  an  intolerable  suspicion. 

"I  am  not  surprised.  The  princess  does  not  know 
me.  For  seventeen  years  the  princess  and  I  have 
been  strangers.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  can  show 
myself  to  my  wife  as  I  am."  He  addressed  himself 
directly  to  the  princess:  "Through  all  these  seven- 
teen years  I,  too,  have  been  seeking  what  you  sought; 
but,  more  fortunate  than  you,  I  have  succeeded  where 
you  have  failed." 

He  turned  to  Peyrolles,  who  was  standing  close  to 
his  master's  side,  and  commanded:  "Bring  in  Made- 
moiselle Gabrielle  de  Nevers." 

In  a  moment  Peyrolles  had  vanished  from  the  room, 
leaving  every  man  in  the  assembly  impressed  and 

230 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

startled  by  Gonzague's  statement.  The  king  looked 
from  Gonzague,  whose  face  he  had  been  studying 
while  he  spoke  with  admiration  and  approval,  and 
fixed  his  keen  gaze  upon  the  princess.  She  alone,  of 
all  those  in  the  room,  seemed  unmoved  by  the  mo- 
mentous tidings  that  her  husband  had  communicated. 
The  younger  men  whispered  among  themselves,  the 
elders  kept  silence,  but  it  was  plain  that  their  curiosity 
was  very  great. 

In  a  few  moments  Peyrolles  returned  to  the  room 
escorting  Flora,  now  very  beautifully  attired  in  a 
dress  of  simple  richness. 

Chavernay  could  not  restrain  his  surprise  as  she 
entered.  "The  little  dancing-girl,"  he  whispered  to 
his  right-hand  neighbor,  Choisy,  but  he  said  no  more. 
Even  his  airy  nature  was  impressed  by  the  stillness 
of  the  company  and  the  gravity  of  the  situation. 

Gonzague  took  the  hand  of  Flora  and  conducted 
her  across  the  room  to  the  princess.  "Madame,"  he 
said,  "I  restore  your  child." 

The  princess  looked  fixedly  at  the  girl,  her  thin 
hands  clasping  the  arms  of  her  chair  convulsively, 
and  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  She  was  waiting  for  a  voice,  she  was  wonder- 
ing if  she  would  hear  a  voice,  and  as  she  waited  and 
wondered  she  heard  a  voice  from  behind  the  cur- 
tain near  where  she  sat  apart,  a  voice  which  reached 
her  ears,  a  voice  with  a  mysterious  message — "I  am 
here." 

The  princess  clasped  her  hand  to  her  heart.  "Ah!" 
231 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

she  murmured,  "will  the  dead  speak?  Is  this  my 
child?"  And  again  the  voice  spoke  and  answered: 
"No." 

By  this  time  Gonzague  and  the  girl  had  reached 
the  princess,  who  now  rose  to  her  feet  and  confronted 
the  pair  as  she  spoke.  "My  child  should  have  with 
her  a  packet  containing  the  page  torn  away  from  the 
register  of  the  chapel  of  Caylus,  torn  away  with  my 
own  hands."  She  turned  to  Flora  and  questioned 
her:  "Have  you  that  packet?" 

Flora  dropped  on  her  knees  and  stretched  out  her 
hands  with  a  pretty,  pathetic  air  of  supplication. 
"Madame,  I  have  nothing.  Ah,  madame,  the  poor 
little  gypsy  girl  asks  of  you  neither  wealth  nor  sta- 
tion; she  only  entreats  you  to  love  her  as  she  loves 
you." 

The  princess  prayed  silently:  "Oh,  Heaven  help 
me!  Heaven  inspire  me!" 

Gonzague  was  startled  by  this  sudden  hostility  to 
his  scheme,  but  spoke  with  respectful  earnestness: 
"Madame,"  he  said,  slowly,  "we  have  depositions, 
sworn  to  and  duly  attested  in  Madrid,  that  this  girl, 
then  a  year-old  child,  was  given  to  a  band  of  gypsies 
by  a  man  whose  description  coincides  exactly  with 
that  of  one  of  the  men  believed  to  have  been  con- 
cerned in  the  attack  upon  Louis  de  Nevers  in  the 
moat  of  Caylus.  We  have  their  statements  that  in 
their  hearing  the  man  called  the  child  Gabrielle, 
that  he  said  to  the  head  gypsy  that  she  was  of  noble 
birth,  and  that  he  gave  her  up  to  them  because  he 

232 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

wished  the  child  to  suffer  for  the  hate  he  bore  her 
father.  All  this  and  more  than  this  we  can  prove. 
For  my  part,  I  say  that  in  this  girl's  lineaments  I  seem 
to  see  again  the  features  of  my  dear  dead  friend. 
Madame,  to  reject  the  child  whom  we  believe  to  be 
the  daughter  of  Nevers,  you  must  have  reasons  grave 
indeed — the  strongest  proofs.  Have  you  such  rea- 
sons, such  proofs?" 

From  behind  the  curtain  a  voice  travelled  to  the 
princess's  ears,  murmuring,  "Yes,"  and  the  princess 
repeated,  "Yes,"  confidently. 

Gonzague  drew  himself  up  with  a  look  of  pain  and 
sorrow.  "I  understand,  madame.  Some  impostor, 
speculating  upon  your  sorrow,  has  told  you  that  he 
has  found  your  child." 

Chavernay  whispered  behind  his  hand  to  Na- 
vailles:  "Our  cousin  is  losing  his  temper." 

As  the  princess  kept  silent,  Gonzague  pressed  his 
question:  "  Is  that  not  so,  madame  ?  Speak!  Is  this 
not  so?  Some  one  has  told  you  that  she  is  alive?" 

The  princess  heard  the  voice  behind  the  curtain 
whisper:  "She  lives."  Looking  steadily  at  Gon- 
zague, she  said:  "She  lives,  in  spite  of  you,  by  the 
grace  of  God." 

The  agitation  of  the  audience  was  very  great.  The 
king  directly  addressed  the  princess:  "Can  you  pro- 
duce her?" 

Again  the  voice  whispered  to  the  Princess,  "Yes," 
and  again  the  Princess  repeated,  "Yes,"  as  con- 
fidently as  before. 

233 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"When?"  asked  the  king,  to  whom  Gonzague  had 
at  once  yielded  the  privilege  of  question. 

The  voice  whispered,  "To-night,"  and  the  princess 
repeated  the  words. 

The  voice  whispered  again,  "At  the  ball  in  the 
Palais  Royal,"  and  again  the  Princess  echoed  it, 
"At  the  ball  in  the  Palais  Royal." 

The  king  had  no  more  to  say;  he  was  silent.  Gon- 
zague groaned  aloud  as  he  turned  to  Flora.  "My 
poor  child,  only  God  can  give  you  back  the  heart  of 
your  mother." 

The  girl,  with  the  quick  impulsiveness  of  her  race, 
again  flung  herself  on  her  knees  before  the  princess, 
while  she  cried:  "Madame,  whether  you  are  my  moth- 
er or  not,  I  respect  you,  I  love  you!" 

The  princess  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the  girl's 
dark  hair.  "My  child,  my  child,  I  believe  you  are 
no  accomplice  of  this  crime.  I  wish  you  well." 

Flora  was  now  sobbing  bitterly,  and  seemed  unable 
to  rise.  Peyrolles  hastened  to  her  side,  hastened  to 
lift  her  to  her  feet,  and  hurriedly  conducted  the  weep- 
ing girl  from  the  room.  The  princess,  holding  her 
head  high,  turned  and  addressed  the  king:  "Your 
majesty,  my  mourning  ends  to-day.  I  have  recov- 
ered my  daughter.  I  shall  be  your  guest  to-night, 
sire." 

The  king  bowed  profoundly.  "Believe  that  we 
shall  be  most  proud  to  welcome  you." 

The  princess  made  him  a  reverence  and  turned  to 
leave  the  room.  The  king  quitted  his  chair,  hastened 

234 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  her  side,  and  gave  her  his  arm  to  the  door.  When 
she  had  departed,  Louis  of  France  hastened  to  Gon- 
zague  where  he  stood  alone,  the  centre  of  wondering 
eyes.  "What  is  the  meaning  of  this  double  dis- 
covery?" he  asked. 

Gonzague  shook  his  head  with  the  air  of  one  who 
is  faced  by  a  shameful  conspiracy,  but  who  is  not 
afraid  to  face  it.  "I  have  found  Nevers's  child.  Who 
the  impostor  is  I  do  not  know,  but  I  shall  know — 
and  then — " 

He  paused,  but  his  menacing  silence  was  more 
impressive  than  any  speech.  The  king  wrung  his 
friend's  hand  warmly.  "I  hope  you  may.  Till  to- 
night, gentlemen." 

All  were  standing  now.  The  king  embraced  the 
company  in  a  general  salutation  and  went  out,  fol- 
lowed by  his  friends.  The  lawyers,  the  ecclesiastics 
took  their  leave.  Only  the  friends  of  Gonzague 
remained  in  the  room,  and  they  stood  apart,  eying 
their  master  dubiously,  uncertain  whether  he  would 
wish  them  to  go  or  to  stay.  Chavernay  took  it  upon 
himself,  with  his  usual  lightness  of  heart,  to  play 
their  spokesman.  He  advanced  to  Gonzague  and 
addressed  him. 

"Can  we  condole  with  you  on  this  game  of  cross- 
purposes?" 

Gonzague  turned  to  Chavernay,  and  his  counte- 
nance was  calm,  bold,  almost  smiling.  "No.  I  shall 
win  the  game.  We  shall  meet  to-night.  Perhaps  I 
shall  need  your  swords." 

235 


THE   DUKE'S  MOTTO 

"Now,  as  ever,  at  your  service,"  Navailles  pro- 
tested, and  the  rest  murmured  their  agreement  with 
the  speaker.  Then  Gonzague's  partisans  slowly  filed 
out  of  the  room,  Chavernay,  as  usual,  smiling,  the 
others  unusually  grave.  Gonzague  turned  to  Pey- 
rolles,  who  had  returned  from  his  task  of  convoying 
Flora  to  her  apartments.  "Who  has  done  all  this?" 
he  asked. 

He  thought  he  was  alone  with  his  henchman,  but 
he  was  mistaken.  ^Esop  had  quietly  entered  the 
room,  and  was  standing  at  his  side,  ^sop  answered 
the  question  addressed  to  Peyrolles.  "I  can  tell  you. 
The  man  you  can  neither  find  nor  bind." 

Gonzague  started.     "Lagardere?" 

^Esop  nodded.  "Lagardere,  whom  I  will  give  into 
your  hands  if  you  wish." 

Gonzague  caught  at  his  promise  eagerly.  "When  ?" 
he  asked. 

"To-night,  at  the  king's  ball,"  JEsop  answered. 


XXIII 

THE    KING'S    BALL 

THE  gardens  of  the  Palais  Royal  made  a  delight- 
ful place  for  such  an  entertainment  as  the  king's 
ball.  In  its  contrasts  of  light  and  shadow,  in  its 
sombre  alleys  starred  with  colored  lights,  in  its  blend 
of  courtly  pomp  and  sylvan  simplicity,  it  seemed  the 
fairy-like  creation  of  some  splendid  dream.  Against 
the  vivid  greenness  of  the  trees,  intensified  by  the 
brightness  of  the  blazing  lamps,  the  whiteness  of  the 
statues  asserted  itself  with  fantastic  emphasis.  Every- 
where innumerable  flowers  of  every  hue  and  every 
odor  sweetened  the  air  and  pleased  the  eye,  and 
through  the  blooming  spaces,  seemingly  as  innu- 
merable as  the  blossoms  and  seemingly  as  brilliant, 
moved  the  gay,  many -colored  crowd  of  the  king's 
guests.  The  gardens  were  large,  the  gardens  were 
spacious,  but  the  king's  guests  were  many,  and 
seemed  to  leave  no  foot  of  room  unoccupied.  Hither 
and  thither  they  drifted,  swayed,  eddied,  laughing, 
chattering,  intriguing,  whispering,  admiring,  wonder- 
ing, playing  all  the  tricks,  repeating  all  the  antics 
that  are  the  time-honored  attributes  and  privileges 

237 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

of  a  masquerade.  Here  trained  dancers  executed 
some  elaborate  measure  for  the  entertainment  of 
those  that  cared  to  pause  in  their  wandering  and  be- 
hold them;  there  mysterious  individuals,  in  flowing 
draperies,  professed  to  read  the  stars  and  tell  the  fort- 
unes of  those  that  chose  to  spare  some  moments 
from  frivolity  for  such  mystic  consultations. 

In  the  handsomest  part  of  the  garden,  hard  by  the 
Pond  and  Fountain  of  Diana,  a  magnificent  tent  had 
been  pitched,  which  was  reserved  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  king  himself  and  for  such  special  friends 
as  he  might  choose  to  invite  to  share  his  privacy. 
Around  this  tent  a  stream  of  mirth-makers  flowed 
at  a  respectful  distance,  envying — for  envy  is  present 
even  at  a  masquerade — those  most  highly  favored 
where  all  were  highly  favored  in  being  admitted  into 
the  sovereign's  intimacy. 

At  the  door  of  this  tent,  Monsieur  Breant,  who 
had  been  one  of  the  cardinal's  principal  servants,  and 
who  still  remained  the  head  custodian  of  the  palace, 
was  standing  surveying  the  scene  with  a  curiosity 
dulled  by  long  familiarity.  He  was  unaware  that  a 
sombrely  clad  hunchback,  quite  an  incongruous  fig- 
ure in  the  merry  crowd,  was  making  for  him,  until  the 
hunchback,  coming  along  beside  him,  touched  him  on 
the  arm  and  called  him  by  name:  "Monsieur  Breant!" 

Breant  turned  and  gazed  at  the  hunchback  with 
some  surprise.  "Who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

The  hunchback  laughed  as  he  answered:  "Don't 
you  know  me?  Why,  man,  I  am  ^sop  the  Second. 

238 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

My  illustrious  ancestor  laughed  at  all  the  world,  and 
so  do  I.  He  loved  the  Greek  girl  Rhodopis,  who  built 
herself  a  pyramid.  I  am  wiser  than  he,  for  I  love 
only  myself." 

Breant  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  made  to  turn 
upon  his  heel.  "I  have  no  time  for  fooling." 

^Esop  detained  him.  "Don't  leave  me;  I  am  good 
company." 

Breant  did  not  seem  to  be  tempted  by  the  offer. 
"That  may  be,  but  I  must  attend  on  his  majesty." 

^sop  still  restrained  him.  "You  can  do  me  a 
favor." 

Breant  eyed  the  impertinent  hunchback  with  dis- 
favor. "Why  should  I  do  you  a  favor,  JEsop  the 
Second?" 

The  hunchback  explained,  gayly:  "In  the  first 
place,  because  I  am  the  guest  of  his  Majesty  the  King. 
In  the  second  place,  because  I  am  the  confidential 
devil  of  his  Highness  the  Prince  de  Gonzague.  But 
my  third  reason  is  perhaps  better." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a  well-filled  purse  from  his 
pocket  and  tossed  it  lightly  from  one  hand  to  the  other, 
looking  at  Breant  with  a  sneering  smile.  Breant 
would  have  been  no  true  servant  of  the  time  if  he 
had  not  liked  money  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  that 
money  could  give;  Breant  would  have  been  no  true 
servant  of  the  time  if  he  had  not  been  always  in  want 
of  money.  He  eyed  the  purse  approvingly,  and  his 
manner  was  more  amiable. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 
239 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

JEsop  made  his  wishes  clear.  "There  is  a  little 
lodge  yonder  in  the  darkness  at  the  end  of  that  alley, 
hard  by  the  small  gate  that  is  seldom  used.  You 
know  the  gate,  for  you  sometimes  used  to  wait  in 
that  little  lodge  when  a  late  exalted  personage  chose 
to  walk  abroad  incognito." 

Breant  frowned  at  him.  "You  know  much,  Mas- 
ter ^Esop." 

.£Ssop  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  am  a  wizard. 
But  it  needs  no  wizard  to  guess  that,  as  the  exalted 
personage  is  no  longer  with  us,  he  will  not  walk 
abroad  to-night,  and  you  will  not  have  to  yawn  and 
doze  in  the  lodge  till  he  return." 

"What  then?"  asked  Breant. 

JEsop  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "Let  me 
have  the  key  of  the  little  lodge  for  to-night." 

Breant  lifted  his  hands  in  protest.  "Impossible!" 
he  said. 

^sop  shook  his  head.  "I  hate  that  word,  Mon- 
sieur Breant.  'Tis  a  vile  word.  Come  now,  twenty 
louis  and  the  key  of  the  lodge  for  an  hour  after  mid- 
night." 

Breant  looked  at  the  purse  and  looked  at  the 
hunchback.  "Why  do  you  want  it?"  he  asked. 

^sop  laughed  mockingly.  "Vanity.  I  wish  to 
walk  this  ball  like  a  gentleman.  I  have  fine  clothes; 
they  lie  now  in  a  bundle  on  the  lodge  step.  If  I  had 
the  key  I  could  slip  inside  and  change  and  change 
again  and  enjoy  myself,  and  no  one  the  worse  or  the 
wiser." 

240 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

The  purse  seemed  to  grow  larger  to  Breant's  eyes, 
and  his  objections  to  dwindle  proportionately.  "A 
queer  whim,  crookback,"  he  said. 

^sop  amended  the  phrase:  "A  harmless  whim, 
and  twenty  louis  would  please  the  pocket." 

Breant  slipped  his  hand  into  a  side-pocket,  and, 
producing  a  little  key,  he  handed  it  to  ^Esop. 
"There's  the  key,  but  I  must  have  it  back  before 
morning." 

JEsop  took  the  key,  and  the  purse  changed  owners. 
"You  shall,"  he  promised.  "Good.  Now  I  shall 
make  myself  beautiful." 

Breant  looked  at  him  good  - humoredly.  "Good 
sport,  ^Esop  the  Second."  He  turned  and  disap- 
peared into  the  tent. 

^sop,  looking  at  the  key  with  satisfaction,  mur- 
mured to  himself :  "The  best." 

As  he  moved  slowly  away  from  the  king's  tent  a 
little  crowd  of  Gonzague's  friends — Chavernay,  Oriol, 
Navailles,  Noce",  Gironne,  Choisy,  Albret,  and  Mon- 
taubert — all  laughing  and  talking  loudly,  crossed  his 
path  and  perceived  the  hunchback,  who  seemed  to 
them,  naturally  enough,  a  somewhat  singular  figure 
in  such  a  scene.  "Good  Heavens!  What  is  this?" 
cried  Navailles. 

Noce*  chuckled:  "A  hunchback  brings  luck.  May 
I  slap  you  on  the  back,  little  lord?" 

^Esop  answered  him,  coolly:  "Yes,  Monsieur  de 
Noce",  if  I  may  slap  you  in  the  face." 

Noce*  took  offence  instantly.  "Now,  by  Heaven, 
16  241 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

crookback!"  he  cried,  and  made  a  threatening  gest- 
ure against  ^Esop,  who  eyed  him  insolently  with  a 
mocking  smile. 

Chavernay  interposed.  "Nonsense!"  he  cried. 
"Nonsense,  Noce",  you  began  the  jest."  Then  he 
added,  in  a  lower  voice:  "You  can't  pick  a  quarrel 
with  the  poor  devil." 

The  hunchback  paid  him  an  extravagant  salutation. 
' '  Monsieur  de  Chavernay,  you  are  always  chivalrous. 
You  really  ought  to  die  young,  for  it  will  take  so 
much  trouble  to  turn  you  into  a  rogue." 

Fat  Oriol,  staring  in  amazement  at  the  controversy, 
questioned:  "What  does  the  fellow  mean?" 

Chavernay  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughing,  and  patted 
Oriol  on  the  back.  "I'm  afraid  he  means  that  you 
are  a  rogue,  Oriol." 

While  the  angry  gentlemen  stood  together,  with 
the  hunchback  apart  eying  them  derisively,  and 
Chavernay  standing  between  the  belligerents  as  peace- 
maker, Taranne  hurriedly  joined  the  group.  He  was 
evidently  choking  with  news  and  eager  to  distrib- 
ute it. 

"Friends,  friends,"  he  cried,  "there  is  something 
extraordinary  going  on  here  to-night!" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Chavernay. 

Taranne  answered  him,  with  a  voice  as  grave  as  an 
oracle:  "All  the  sentinels  are  doubled,  and  there  are 
two  companies  of  soldiers  in  the  great  court." 

Navailles  protested:   "You  are  joking!" 

Taranne  was  not  to  be  put  down.  "Never  more 
242 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

serious.  Every  one  who  enters  is  scrutinized  most 
carefully." 

"That  is  easy  to  explain,"  said  Chavernay;  "it  is 
just  to  make  sure  that  they  really  are  invited." 

Taranne  declined  to  admit  this  interpretation  of 
his  mystery:  "Not  so,  for  nobody  is  allowed  on  any 
pretext  to  leave  the  gardens." 

Oriol  flushed  with  a  sudden  wave  of  intelligence: 
"Perhaps  some  plot  against  his  majesty." 

"Heaven  knows,"  Navailles  commented. 

^sop  interrupted  the  discussion  with  a  dry  laugh, 
dimly  suggestive  of  the  cackle  of  a  jackdaw.  "I 
know,  gentlemen." 

Oriol  stared  at  him.     "You  know?" 

Noce"  gave  vent  to  an  angry  laugh.  "The  hunch- 
back knows." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  a  group  of 
middle-aged  gentlemen  had  been  moving  down  the 
avenue  that  led  to  the  Pond  of  Diana.  These  were 
the  Baron  de  la  Hunaudaye,  Monsieur  de  Marillac, 
Monsieur  de  Barbanchois,  Monsieur  de  la  Ferte,  and 
Monsieur  de  Vauguyon.  They  had  been  taking  a 
peaceful  interest  in  the  spectacle  afforded  them,  had 
been  comparing  it  with  similar  festivities  that  they 
recalled  in  the  days  of  their  youth,  and  had  been  en- 
joying themselves  tranquilly  enough.  Perceiving  a 
group  of  young  men  apparently  engaged  in  animated 
discussion,  the  elders  quickened  their  pace  a  little  to 
join  the  party  and  learn  the  cause  of  its  animation. 

When  they  arrived  ^Esop  was  speaking.  "Some- 
243 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

thing  extraordinary  is  going  on  here  to-night,'  Mon- 
sieur de  Navailles.  The  king  is  preoccupied.  The 
guard  is  doubled,  but  no  one  knows  why,  not  even 
these  gentlemen.  But  I  know,  ^Esop  the  Wise." 

"What  do  you  know?"  asked  Navailles. 

JSsop  looked  at  him  mockingly.  "You  would 
never  guess  it  if  you  guessed  for  a  thousand  years. 
It  has  nothing  to  do  with  plots  or  politics,  with  for- 
eign intrigues  or  domestic  difficulties — 

Oriol  thirsted  for  information.  "What  is  it  for, 
then?" 

^sop  answered,  gravely,  with  an  amazing  ques- 
tion: "Gentlemen,  do  you  believe  in  ghosts?"  And 
the  gravity  of  his  voice  and  the  strangeness  of  his 
question  forced  his  hearers,  surprised  and  uneasy, 
in  spite  of  themselves,  to  laugh  disdainfully. 

JEsop  accepted  their  laughter  composedly.  "Of 
course  not.  No  one  believes  in  ghosts  at  noonday, 
on  the  crowded  street,  though  perhaps  some  do  at 
midnight  when  the  world  is  over-still.  But  here,  to- 
night, in  all  this  glitter  and  crowd  and  noise  and  color, 
the  king  is  perturbed  and  the  guards  are  doubled 
because  of  a  ghost — the  ghost  of  a  man  who  has  been 
dead  these  seventeen  years." 

The  Baron  de  la  Hunaudaye,  bluff  old  soldier  of  the 
brave  days  of  the  dawning  reign,  was  interested  in  the 
hunchback's  words.  "Of  whom  do  you  speak?"  he 
asked. 

^sop  turned  to  the  new-comers,  and  addressed 
them  more  respectfully  than  he  had  been  addressing 

244 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

the  ^artisans  of  Gonzague:  "I  speak  of  a  gallant 
gentleman — young,  brave,  beautiful,  well-beloved.  I 
speak  to  men  who  knew  him.  To  you,  Monsieur  de 
la  Hunaudaye,  who  would  now  be  lying  under  Flemish 
earth  if  his  sword  had  not  slain  your  assailant;  to 
you,  Monsieur  de  Marillac,  whose  daughter  took  the 
veil  for  love  of  him;  to  you,  Monsieur  de  Barbanchois, 
who  fortified  against  him  the  dwelling  of  your  lady 
love;  to  you,  Monsieur  de  la  Ferte,  who  lost  to  him 
one  evening  your  Castle  of  Senneterre;  to  you,  Mon- 
sieur de  Vauguyon,  whose  shoulder  should  still  re- 
member the  stroke  of  his  sword." 

As  j&sop  spoke,  he  addressed  in  turn  each  of  the 
elder  men,  and  as  he  spoke  recognition  of  his  meaning 
showed  itself  in  the  face  of  each  man  whom  he  ad- 
dressed. 

Hunaudaye  nodded.  "Louis  de  Nevers,"  he  said, 
solemnly. 

Instantly  JEsop  uncovered.  "Yes,  Louis  de  Nevers, 
who  was  assassinated  under  the  walls  of  the  Castle  of 
Caylus  twenty  years  ago." 

Chavernay  came  over  to  JKsop.  "My  father  was 
a  friend  of  Louis  de  Nevers." 

^sop  looked  from  the  group  of  old  men  to  the  group 
of  young  men.  "It  is  the  ghost  of  Nevers  that 
troubles  us  to-night.  There  were  three  Louis  in 
those  days,  brothers  in  arms.  Louis  of  France  did 
all  he  could  to  find  the  assassin  of  Nevers.  In  vain. 
Louis  de  Gonzague  did  all  he  could  to  find  the  assassin 
of  Nevers.  In  vain.  Well,  gentlemen,  would  you  be- 

245 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

lieve  it,  to-night  Louis  of  France  and  Louis  de^Gon- 
zague  will  be  told  the  name  of  the  assassin  of  Nevers  ?" 

"And  the  name?"  asked  Chavernay. 

Choisy  plucked  him  impatiently  by  the  sleeve. 
"Don't  you  see  that  the  humpbacked  fool  is  making 
game  of  us?" 

^sop  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "As  you  please, 
sirs,  as  you  please;  but  that  is  why  the  guards  are 
doubled." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  leisurely  away 
from  the  two  groups  of  gentlemen.  The  elders,  hav- 
ing little  in  common  with  Gonzague's  friends,  followed 
his  example,  and  drifted  off  together,  talking  to  one 
another  in  a  low  voice  of  the  gallant  gentleman  whose 
name  had  suddenly  been  recalled  to  their  memories 
at  that  moment.  Gonzague's  gang  stared  at  one  an- 
other, feeling  vaguely  discomfited. 

"The  man  is  mad,"  said  Gironne. 

"There  seems  a  method  in  his  madness,"  said  Cha- 
vernay, dryly. 

Albret  interrupted  them.  "Here  comes  his  maj- 
esty." 

"And,  as  I  live,  with  the  Princess  de  Gonzague!" 
Montaubert  cried,  amazed. 

Oriol  elevated  his  fat  palms.  "Wonders  will  never 
cease!" 


XXIV 

THE     ROSE-COLORED     DOMINO 

AJL  the  party  bowed  respectfully  as  the  king 
came  slowly  down  the  great  walk,  giving  his  arm 
to  the  Princess  de  Gonzague.  Then,  anxious  to  avoid 
any  appearance  of  intruding  upon  the  privacy  of  the 
monarch,  they  drifted  off  in  search  of  fresh  amuse- 
ment. 

Louis  addressed  the  princess,  indicating  the  gayety 
around  him  with  a  wave  of  his  arm.  "After  so  long 
an  absence  from  the  world,  all  this  folly  must  worry 
you  a  little." 

The  princess  looked  at  him  sadly.  ' '  The  world  and 
I  have  little  more  to  say  to  each  other.  I  come  here 
to-night  to  meet  one  who  has  promised  to  tell  me  of 
my  husband,  of  my  child." 

"Lagardere?"  said  the  king,  gravely. 

And  as  gravely  the  princess  answered:  "Lagardere." 

"At  midnight?"  asked  the  king. 

"Yes,"  said  the  princess. 

The  king  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past 
eleven.  "Will  you  rest  in  my  pavilion,  princess, 
until  the  time  comes?" 

247 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Louis  conducted  the  princess  into  the  tent,  where 
he  was  followed  by  his  escort.  As  they  did  so,  Gon- 
zague,  coming  slowly  down  the  avenue,  watched  them 
thoughtfully.  It  was  strange,  indeed,  to  see  his  wife 
in  such  a  place  and  in  such  company.  It  was  strange 
to  feel  that  her  passive  hostility  through  all  these 
years  was  now  turned  suddenly  into  action. 

"Bah!"  he  said  to  himself;  "it  is  my  word  against 
that  of  an  adventurer  who  has  hidden  for  twenty 
years." 

Peyrolles,  pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd  and 
peering  to  right  and  left,  caught  sight  of  his  master 
and  hurriedly  joined  him.  "Well,"  said  Gonzague, 
"have  you  found  the  girl?" 

Peyrolles  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "We  have 
searched  Paris  without  success.  Not  a  sign  of  her, 
nor  of  him." 

Gonzague  frowned.  "She  must  be  here.  If  she 
be  the  real  child,  the  princess  may  recognize  her." 

"And  all  is  lost,"  said  Peyrolles,  with  a  groan. 

Gonzague  almost  smiled.  "No.  We  will  charge 
Lagardere  with  having  assassinated  the  father  and 
stolen  the  child  for  his  own  ends.  He  shall  be  hanged 
out  of  hand.  Dona  Flora  will  seem  the  commendable 
error  of  my  over-zealous  heart,  and  as  for  the  new 
princess — well,  even  princesses  are  mortal." 

Peyrolles  had  always  admired  his  master,  but  never 
perhaps  so  much  as  now.  ' '  Your  Excellency  is  a  man 
of  genius,"  he  said,  enthusiastically. 

Gonzague  smiled.  "Forethought,  my  good  Pey- 
248 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

rolles — only  forethought.  But  it  would  save  trouble 
if  the  girl  were  out  of  the  way." 

Peyrolles  bowed.    "  I  will  do  my  best ,  monseigneur . ' ' 

"Good,"  said  Gonzague.  "I  must  wait  upon  his 
majesty.  And  upon  the  princess,"  he  added. 

Gonzague,  whose  intimacy  with  the  king  always 
made  him  the  first  to  be  bidden  to  any  special  festiv- 
ity, entered  the  tent  unchallenged,  and  was  warm- 
ly welcomed  by  Louis.  Peyrolles  remained  outside, 
walking  up  and  down,  immersed  in  distasteful  reflec- 
tions. He  had  failed  to  find  the  girl;  he  had  failed 
to  get  on  the  traces  of  Lagardere ;  he  had  seen  noth- 
ing of  ^sop.  The  ball,  so  pleasant  to  everybody 
else,  seemed  to  him  full  of  menace,  and  he  eyed  with 
some  disapproval  the  jolly,  noisy  folk  that  thronged 
the  alleys  and  shook  the  night  with  laughter.  Swollen 
with  sour  humors,  he  leaned  against  a  tree,  cursing 
in  his  heart  the  folly  of  those  swordsmen  who  had 
failed  to  get  rid  of  a  cursed  enemy.  Enveloped,  as 
it  were,  in  bitterness,  he  failed  to  notice  a  not  un- 
noticeable  group  that  detached  itself  from  the  crowd 
beyond  and  came  slowly  down  the  alley  towards  the 
Fountain  of  Diana.  The  group  was  composed  of  a 
woman  in  a  rose-colored  domino  and  mask,  accom- 
panied by  two  tall,  masculine  figures  muffled  from 
head  to  heels  in  black  dominos,  and  their  features 
completely  hidden  by  bearded  black  masks.  The 
pink  domino  and  the  twin  black  dominos  seemed 
to  be  seeking  their  way. 

"This,"  said  the  bigger  of  the  black  dominos,  and 
249 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

his  voice  was  the  voice  of  Cocardasse — "this  must  be 
the  Fountain  of  Diana." 

The  second  of  the  black  dominos  pointed  to  the 
statue  shining  in  the  many-tinted  water,  and  spoke 
with  the  voice  of  Passepoil:  "There's  some  such 
poor  heathen  body." 

The  woman  in  the  rose-pink  domino  turned  to 
Cocardasse  and  asked:  "Is  Henri  here?"  And  her 
voice  was  the  voice  of  Gabrielle. 

"I  don't  see  him  yet,  mademoiselle,"  Cocardasse 
answered. 

Gabrielle  sighed.  "I  wish  he  were  come.  All  this 
noise  and  glitter  bewilder  me."  And  the  trio  pro- 
ceeded slowly  to  make  the  tour  of  the  fountain. 

But  if  Peyrolles,  propped  against  his  tree,  was  too 
preoccupied  to  notice  the  not  unnoticeable  group, 
light-hearted  Chavernay  was  more  alert.  Drifting, 
as  every  one  drifted  that  night,  again  and  again,  tow- 
ards the  Fountain  of  Diana  as  the  centre  of  festivi- 
ty, he  turned  to  Navailles  and  pointed  to  Gabrielle. 
"Who  is  that  mask  in  the  rose-colored  domino?  She 
seems  to  seek  some  one." 

Navailles  laughed.  "She  goes  about  with  two 
giants  like  some  princess  in  a  fairy  tale." 

Noc6  was  prepared  with  an  explanation.  "It  is 
Mademoiselle  de  Clermont,  who  is  looking  for  me." 

Taranne  pooh-poohed  him.  "Nonsense.  It  is  Ma- 
dame de  Tessy,  who  is  looking  for  me." 

"It  might  be  Mademoiselle  Nivelle,  looking  for 
me,"  Oriol  suggested,  fatuously. 

250 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Choisy,  Gironne,  Albret,  Montaubert — each  in  turn 
offered  a  possible  name  for  the  unknown. 

Chavernay  would  have  none  of  their  suggestions. 
"No,  no.  That  is  not  any  one  we  know.  She  is 
neither  court  lady  nor  a  play  actress;  she  is  some 
goddess  in  disguise,  and  I  am  going  to  reveal  divinity." 

Then  he  tripped  daintily  forward  and  intercepted 
Gabrielle  and  her  companions  as  they  accomplished 
their  first  tour  of  the  pond.  "Fair  lady,"  said  Cha- 
vernay, with  a  graceful  bow,  "are  you  looking  for 
some  one?" 

The  large  arm  of  Cocardasse  was  interposed  be- 
tween Chavernay  and  Gabrielle,  and  the  large  voice 
of  Cocardasse  counselled  Chavernay:  "Stand  aside, 
little  man." 

Quite  indifferent  to  the  counsels  of  the  mighty 
mask,  Chavernay  persisted:  "Fair  lady,  dismiss  this 
monster  and  accept  my  arm." 

This  time  it  was  Passepoil's  turn  to  intervene. 
"Out  of  the  way!"  he  commanded,  and  gave  Chaver- 
nay a  little  push. 

Instantly  Chavernay 's  hot  blood  was  in  a  flame, 
and  he  clapped  his  hand  to  his  sword.  "How  dare 
you,  fellow — "  he  began. 

But  now  Gabrielle,  greatly  alarmed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  brawl  in  such  a  place,  and  perfectly  recog- 
nizing the  marquis,  removed  her  mask  from  her  face 
for  a  moment  while  she  spoke:  "Monsieur  de  Cha- 
vernay, you  will  let  me  pass." 

It  was  only  for  a  moment,  but  it  was  long  enough 
251 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  give  Chavernay  time  to  recognize  her,  and  he 
fell  back  with  a  respectful  salutation.  It  was  long 
enough,  also,  for  Peyrolles,  leaning  against  his  tree 
and  at  last  roused  from  saddened  thoughts  to  con- 
templation of  the  outer  world,  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
girl's  face  and  to  recognize  its  extraordinary  resem- 
blance to  the  dead  duke.  He  gave  a  start  of  surprise. 
Was  fortune  playing  into  his  hands,  after  all  ? 

Chavernay  bowed.  ' '  Your  pardon,  lady ;  your  path 
is  free,"  he  said,  and  stood  aside  while  Gabrielle 
moved  slowly  forward  with  her  escort  on  a  second 
tour  of  the  fountain.  Navailles  and  the  others  had 
seen,  indeed,  the  lady  unmask,  but  were  not  near 
enough  to  descry  her  features. 

"Well,"  said  Navailles,  eagerly,  to  Chavernay — 
"well,  who  was  the  lady?" 

Chavernay  answered,  coolly:  "I  do  not  know." 

At  this  moment  the  lean  form  and  yellow  face  of 
Monsieur  de  Peyrolles  intruded  itself  into  the  group 
of  Gonzague's  friends. 

"Monsieur  de  Chavernay,"  he  said,  "my  illus- 
trious master  is  looking  for  you.  He  is  with  his 
majesty." 

"I  will  join  him,"  Chavernay  answered,  readily. 
He  was,  like  his  kinsman,  a  privileged  person  with 
the  sovereign,  and  he,  too,  was  permitted  to  enter 
the  tent  unchallenged.  He  entered  it  with  a  graver 
demeanor  than  he  had  worn  that  evening,  for  he  was 
strangely  perplexed  by  the  presence  at  the  king's 
ball  this  night  of  the  girl  whom  he  had  seen  at  the 

252 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

country  Inn.  As  soon  as  Chavernay  had  disappeared, 
Peyrolles,  hurriedly  beckoning,  gathered  about  him 
Navailles,  Noce",  and  the  others,  and  addressed  them 
in  an  eager  whisper: 

"Gentlemen,  you  are  all  devoted  to  the  interests 
of  the  Prince  de  Gonzague  ?" 

Noce  spoke  for  himself  and  his  comrades:  "We  are." 

Peyrolles  went  on:  "Then,  as  you  value  his  friend- 
ship, secure  the  person  of  that  girl  whom  Monsieur 
de  Chavernay  spoke  to  just  now." 

"Why?"  Navailles  questioned. 

Peyrolles  answered  him,  sharply:  "Don't  ask;  act. 
To  please  our  master  it  should  be  done  at  once." 

"How  is  it  to  be  done?"  asked  Taranne. 

Peyrolles  looked  about  him.  "Is  there  no  other 
woman  here  who  wears  a  rose-colored  domino?" 

Navailles  pointed  to  a  group  in  an  adjacent  arbor. 
"Cidalise,  yonder,  is  wearing  a  rose-colored  domino. 
She  will  do  anything  for  me." 

"Bring  her,"  Peyrolles  said,  in  a  tone  of  command 
which  he  sometimes  assumed  when  he  was  on  his 
master's  business,  and  which  no  one  of  his  master's 
friends  ever  took  it  upon  himself  to  resent.  Navailles 
went  towards  the  arbor  and  came  back  with  Cidalise 
upon  his  arm.  Cidalise  was  a  pretty,  young  actress, 
wearing  just  such  a  pink  domino  as  that  worn  by 
Gabrielle. 

Navailles  formally  presented  her  to  Peyrolles. 
"Monsieur  Peyrolles,  this  is  the  divine  Cidalise. 
What  do  you  want  of  her?" 

253 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  unceremoniously  took  the  actress  by  the 
wrist,  and  pointed  to  where  Gabrielle  and  her  escort 
were  wandering. 

"You  see  that  girl  in  rose-color,  escorted  by  two 
giants?  Your  friends  will  gather  about  them  and 
begin  to  hustle  the  giants.  In  the  confusion  you 
will  slip  between  the  pair,  who  will  then  be  left  to 
march  off,  believing  that  you  are  their  charge,  who 
will,  however,  be  in  the  care  of  these  gentlemen.  Do 
you  understand?" 

Cidalise  nodded.     "Perfectly.     And  if  I  do  this?" 

"You  may  rely  upon  the  generosity  of  the  Prince 

of  Gonzague,"  Peyrolles  answered.     If  he  said  little, 

he  looked  much,  and  Cidalise  understood  him  as  she 

accepted. 

"It  will  be  rare  sport.  Come,  gentlemen." 
By  this  time  Gabrielle  and  her  companions,  having 
completed  their  second  circumnavigation  of  the 
pond,  were  going  slowly  across  the  open  space  again. 
The  crowd  was  very  great  about  them,  the  noise 
and  laughter  made  everything  confused.  Gonzague's 
friends  took  advantage  of  the  crowd  and  the  con- 
fusion. They  huddled  around  Gabrielle  and  her 
escort,  laughing  and  chattering  volubly.  They  hus- 
tled Cocardasse,  they  hustled  Passepoil,  treading  on 
their  toes  and  tweaking  their  elbows,  much  to  the 
indignation  of  the  Gascon  and  the  Norman,  each  of 
whom  tried  angrily  and  unavailingly  to  get  hold  of  one 
of  his  nimble  tormentors.  In  the  jostling  and  confu- 
sion, Cidalise  slipped  neatly  between  the  two  bravos, 

254 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

suddenly  abandoned  by  their  plaguers ;  while  Gabrielle, 
surrounded  by  the  dexterous  gentlemen,  was,  against 
her  will  but  very  steadily,  edged  towards  a  side  alley. 
Cocardasse  and  Passepoil,  drawing  deep  breaths  such 
as  lo  may  have  drawn  when  freed  from  her  gadfly, 
looked  down  and  saw,  as  they  believed,  Gabrielle 
standing  between  them.  The  seeming  Gabrielle  mov- 
ed on,  on  a  third  journey  round  the  Pond  of  Diana, 
and  her  escort  accompanied  her,  confident  that  all 
was  well. 

In  the  mean  time,  Gabrielle  was  appealing  to  the 
gentlemen  who  surrounded  her.  "Gentlemen,  stand 
aside!"  she  said,  in  a  tone  partly  of  entreaty,  partly 
of  command. 

At  that  moment  Peyrolles  came  to  her  side  and 
saluted  her  respectfully.  "Do  not  be  alarmed.  "We 
come  from  him." 

Gabrielle  stared  in  amazement  at  the  unfamiliar  face. 

Peyrolles  bent  to  her  ear  and  whispered:  "From 
Lagardere." 

Gabrielle  gave  a  cry.     "Ah!     Where  is  he?" 

Peyrolles  pointed  to  the  far  end  of  the  alley  in 
which  they  were  standing.  It  was  a  dimmer  alley 
than  the  others,  for,  in  obedience  to  a  suggestion 
of  Peyrolles,  Oriol  had  been  busily  engaged  in  putting 
out  the  lights.  "At  the  end  of  this  alley.  He  is 
waiting  for  you." 

He  offered  her  his  arm  as  he  spoke,  and  Gabrielle, 
believing  indeed  that  Lagardere  had  sent  for  her, 
accepted  his  guidance  down  the  alley,  and  so  she 

255 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

disappeared  from  the  noise  and  mirth  and  light  and 
color  of  the  royal  ball. 

As  the  domino  in  pink  and  the  dominos  in  black 
completed  their  third  turn  round  the  Fountain  of 
Diana,  the  domino  in  pink  plucked  off  her  mask,  and, 
looking  up  at  her  accompanying  giants,  showed  to 
them,  amazed,  the  pretty,  impudent,  unfamiliar  face 
of  Cidalise.  "May  I  ask,  gentlemen,  why  you  follow 
me?"  she  said,  merrily. 

At  the  sight  of  her  face,  at  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
at  her  question,  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  reeled  as  if 
they  had  been  struck.  Cidalise  went  on:  "I  have  many 
friends  here,  and  no  need  for  your  company."  Then 
she  laughed  and  ran  away  out  of  sight  in  a  moment 
in  the  shifting  crowd,  leaving  Cocardasse  and  Passe- 
poil staring  at  each  other  in  staggered  amazement. 

"The  devil!"  said  Cocardasse. 

"That's  what  I'm  thinking,"  said  Passepoil. 

Cocardasse  groaned.     "What  will  Lagardere  say?" 

"Well,  we  did  our  best,"  Passepoil  sighed. 

Cocardasse  groaned  again.  "What's  the  good,  if 
we  didn't  do  what  he  wanted?" 

"Where  shall  we  find  him?"  asked  Passepoil. 

Cocardasse  consulted  the  watch  which  he  owed  to  the 
bounty  of  the  Prince  de  Gonzague.  "He  will  be  here  at 
midnight.  It  is  nearly  that  now.  Come,  man,  come." 
And  the  baffled,  bewildered,  angry  pair  plunged  de- 
spairingly into  the  thickness  of  the  crowd  about  them, 
hoping  against  hope  to  find  their  lost  charge  for  the 
moment  when  Lagardere  was  to  make  his  appearance. 

256 


XXV 

THE    GLOVE    OF    COCARDASSE 

FOR  a  little  longer  the  noise  and  revelry  con- 
tinued, until  the  moment  came  when  the  king's 
hospitality,  offering  supper  to  his  wearied  guests, 
emptied  the  gardens  of  many  of  their  frequenters. 
Inside  his  tent  the  sovereign  was  supping  with  his 
friends.  By  his  side  sat  the  Princess  de  Gonzague, 
who  neither  ate  nor  drank,  but  waited  with  an  aching 
heart  for  midnight.  At  a  quarter  to  twelve  Bonni- 
vet  entered  the  tent  and  advanced  towards  the  king. 

"Sire,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  gentleman  here  who 
insists  on  immediate  speech  with  you.  He  says  you 
have  appointed  this  time  and  place  to  meet  him." 

Louis  turned  to  the  Princess  de  Gonzague,  whose 
pale  face  had  suddenly  flushed.  "It  is  he,"  he  said; 
and  then  turned  to  Bonnivet.  "Introduce  the  gen- 
tleman." 

Bonnivet  went  to  the  entrance  of  the  tent,  and  a 
moment  later  Lagardere  entered.  He  was  wearing 
his  old  white  coat  of  the  Royal  Light-Horse,  and  he 
advanced  composedly,  with  head  erect,  towards  the 
king. 

17  257 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"I  am  here,"  he  said,  as  he  saluted  the  duke,  and 
all  present  gazed  on  him  with  curiosity.  Only  three 
knew  who  he  was  or  why  he  was  there. 

Gonzague  muttered  to  himself:  "Now  for  the  death- 
struggle." 

The  king  looked  at  his  visitor.  "Who  are  you?" 
he  asked. 

And  Lagardere  answered:  "I  am  Henri  de  Lagar- 
dere." 

At  that  moment  Peyrolles,  privileged  as  his  mas- 
ter's henchman,  entered  the  tent  and  made  his  way 
to  Gonzague's  side.  "All  is  well,"  he  whispered. 
"We  have  got  the  girl,  and  the  papers  are  upon  her." 

The  king  was  addressing  Lagardere.  "You  are 
here  at  our  pleasure — free  to  come,  free  to  go,  free 
to  speak." 

Lagardere  answered,  firmly:  "I  mean  to  speak." 

The  princess  turned  to  him.  "Will  you  give  me 
back  my  daughter?" 

Lagardere  made  her  a  bow.  "In  a  few  moments 
she  will  be  in  your  arms." 

At  this  moment  Gonzague  rose  and  interrupted. 
"Sire,"  he  said,  "I  can  tell  you  something  of  this 
man." 

Lagardere  glanced  scornfully  at  Gonzague .  ' '  Sire , ' ' 
he  said,  "I  can  tell  you  something  of  this  man."  He 
advanced  towards  Gonzague  and  addressed  him  in 
a  low  tone:  "On  that  September  night  I  told  you 
that  if  you  did  not  come  to  Lagardere,  Lagardere 
would  come  to  you.  You  did  not  come.  I  am  here." 

258 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Then  he  turned  to  the  princess.  "Madame,  here,  as 
in  the  moat  of  Caylus  Castle;  here,  as  by  the  picture 
in  your  palace,  I  am  wholly  in  your  service." 

Gonzague  turned  to  the  king  with  an  appealing 
gesture.  "I  implore  your  majesty  to  let  no  one  leave 
this  place.  If  Monsieur  de  Lagardere  is  desirous  of 
darkness  and  mystery,  I  ask  only  for  light  and 
truth." 

The  king  spoke,  decisively:  "If  the  attack  has  been 
secret,  the  justification  shall  be  public." 

Gonzague  addressed  Lagardere:  "Where  is  the 
woman  who  calls  herself  the  daughter  of  Louis  de 
Nevers?" 

The  king  also  questioned:  "Why  is  she  not  with 
you?" 

Lagardere  answered,  composedly:  "Mademoiselle 
de  Nevers  will  be  here  at  midnight,  and  will  herself 
present  to  your  Royal  Highness  the  papers  that 
prove  her  birth." 

"What  papers?"  asked  the  king. 

And  Lagardere  answered:  "The  pages  torn  from 
the  parish  register  by  her  mother,  and  confided  to 
me  in  the  moat  of  Caylus  Castle." 

The  princess  leaned  forward.  "What  do  you  say  ?" 
she  asked,  eagerly,  and  the  king  echoed  her  question. 

Lagardere  replied:  "The  princess  gave  those  papers 
to  me  when  she  placed  her  child  in  my  arms,  believing 
that  I  was  her  husband,  Louis  de  Nevers." 

Gonzague  questioned,  with  a  sneer:  "Why  should 
she  think  you  were  her  husband  ?" 

259 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Lagardere  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  "Because, 
thanks  to  you,  I  gave  the  signal  agreed  upon — her 
husband's  motto,  'I  am  here.'" 

The  princess  clasped  her  hands.  "My  God,  sire, 
it  is  true." 

"And  these  papers  are  in  your  hands?"  the  king 
asked. 

Lagardere  answered,  quietly:  "They  are  in  the 
hands  of  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers." 

Gonzague  looked  triumphantly  from  Lagardere  to 
the  king.  "Then  why  is  this  pretended  Mademoiselle 
de  Nevers  not  here  ?" 

Lagardere  replied,  composedly:  "She  is  to  be  here 
at  midnight." 

Gonzague  looked  at  his  watch.  "It  is  midnight 
now — she  is  not  here.  Your  majesty  sees  the  worth 
of  this  man's  word." 

Louis  gazed  curiously  at  Lagardere,  whose  bearing, 
in  spite  of  the  king's  prejudices  as  a  friend  of  Gon- 
zague, impressed  him  as  that  of  an  honest  man.  "Had 
you  not  better  send  for  this  lady?"  he  questioned. 

On  Lagardere 's  face  now  some  anxiety  was  depicted, 
and  he  answered,  anxiously:  "She  will  be  here;  she 
must  be  here.  Ah!" 

In  the  excitement  consequent  upon  the  extraordi- 
nary scene  that  was  passing  in  the  king's  presence, 
the  attention  of  all  the  guests  was  riveted  upon  their 
host  and  upon  the  amazing  altercation  between  Louis 
of  Gonzague  and  the  unknown  adventurer,  and  the 
entrance  of  the  tent  was  left  unheeded  and  unguarded. 

260 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

At  this  moment  the  curtains  were  parted,  and  the 
figure  of  Cocardasse  appeared  for  a  moment  in  the 
opening.  As  Lagardere  saw  him,  Cocardasse  lifted 
his  glove  in  the  air  and  let  it  fall  to  the  ground.  Then, 
in  a  moment,  he  had  vanished  before  any  one  had  no-, 
ticed  the  episode. 

Lagardere  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  pain  as  he  turned  to 
the  princess.  "Madame,  your  child  is  not  here;  your 
child  must  be  in  danger!"  he  cried. 

The  princess  clasped  her  hands  as  she  cried:  "My 
child!  My  child!" 

Gonzague  pointed  mockingly  at  Lagardere.  "The 
impostor  is  already  exposed!"  he  cried,  exultingly. 

Lagardere  turned  towards  him,  fiercely.  "Liar!  as- 
sassin!" he  cried,  and  advanced  towards  Gonzague, 
but  was  stopped  by  Bonnivet. 

The  king  looked  at  him  sternly.  "Sir,  you  have 
made  charges  you  could  not  prove,  promises  you  could 
not  keep.  "You  shall  answer  for  this  before  your 
judges." 

Bonnivet  made  as  if  to  arrest  Lagardere,  but  La- 
gardere held  up  his  hand.  "Stop!"  he  cried;  "let  no 
man  dare  to  touch  me.  I  have  here  your  majesty's 
safe-conduct,  signed  and  sealed — 'free  to  come,  free  to 
go' — that  was  your  promise,  sire." 

Gonzague  protested.  "A  promise  won  by  a  trick 
does  not  count." 

The  king  shook  his  head.  "I  have  given  my  word. 
The  man  has  forty-eight  hours  to  cross  the  frontier." 

Lagardere  bowed  to  the  king.  "I  thank  you, 
261 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

sire.  You  are  a  true  and  honorable  gentleman.  But, 
sire,  I  give  you  back  your  word."  As  he  spoke  he 
tore  the  safe-conduct  in  two  and  flung  it  at  his  feet. 
"I  ask  but  four-and-twenty  hours  to  unmask  the 
villain  who  now  triumphs  over  truth  and  justice,  and 
to  give  back  a  daughter  to  her  mother.  Nevers  shall 
be  avenged!  Make  way  for  me!" 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  upon  his  heel  and  passed 
rapidly  from  the  king's  presence,  the  amazed  and 
bewildered  guests  giving  ground  before  him  as  he 
passed.  Instantly  Gonzague  turned  and  whispered  to 
Peyrolles:  "He  must  not  leave  this  place  alive." 

And  Peyrolles  answered,  confidently:  "He  shall  not. 
Every  gate  is  guarded  by  my  spies." 

The  king  rose  gravely  and  addressed  the  assembly. 
"Let  us  disperse,  friends.  What  we  have  seen  and 
heard  leaves  us  in  little  mood  for  merrymaking." 
Then  he  gave  his  hand  to  the  now  weeping  princess, 
and,  followed  by  his  immediate  escort,  quitted  the 
tent.  It  was  soon  deserted;  it  was  soon  empty.  The 
king  departed  in  the  direction  of  his  palace.  News 
that  the  ball  was  ended  spread  rapidly,  and  in  a  short 
while  the  gardens  that  had  been  so  thronged  and  brill- 
iant became  deserted  and  desolate.  The  departing 
guests  found  that  every  exit  was  guarded  by  soldiers, 
and  that  their  faces  were  carefully  scanned  before  they 
were  suffered  to  leave  the  precincts  of  the  Palais  Royal. 

Gonzague  remained  alone  in  the  solitude  by  the 
Fountain  of  Diana,  waiting  for  Peyrolles,  who  pres- 
ently joined  him. 

262 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Well?"  Gonzague  asked,  anxiously. 

Peyrolles  looked  disappointed.  "He  has  not  left 
by  any  of  the  gates.  He  must  be  hiding  in  the  gar- 
dens." 

Gonzague  commanded,  sharply:  "Bid  your  men 
seek  till  they  find,  and  kill  when  they  find." 

Peyrolles  bowed.  "Yes,  your  excellency,"  he  said, 
and  disappeared  down  one  of  the  silent  alleys.  As  he 
departed,  the  hunchback  emerged  from  the  shadow 
of  a  tree  and  approached  Gonzague  noiselessly.  Gon- 
zague started  a  little  as  he  suddenly  became  aware  of 
the  hunchback's  presence. 

The  hunchback  bowed.  "Is  your  highness  con- 
tent with  the  night's  work?" 

"So  far,  yes,"  Gonzague  replied.  "We  have  got 
the  girl  and  got  the  papers  safe  in  my  palace." 

"Ah!     And  Lagardere?"  the  hunchback  asked. 

Gonzague  answered:  "Peyrolles  is  looking  for  him, 
with  six  of  the  best  swords  in  Paris." 

^sop  spoke,  contemptuously:  "Peyrolles  is  a  bun- 
gler. Leave  it  to  me.  I  will  find  Lagardere  for  you 
and  deal  with  him  as  he  deserves  before  an  hour  has 
passed." 

Gonzague  caught  at  his  words  eagerly.  "You 
promise?" 

^sop  answered,  proudly:  "On  the  word  of  a  hunch- 
back. Before  two  o'clock  I  will  bring  you  the  news 
you  wish  for." 

Gonzague  gave  a  cry  of  triumph.  "Then  ask  and 
have  your  own  reward."  Then  he  turned  and  hur- 

263 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

riedly  left  the  gardens,  his  breast  swelled  with  exulta- 
tion. When  he  was  out  of  sight,  the  hunchback 
whistled  softly,  and  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  came 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  The  lights  were  now 
rapidly  dying  out,  and  the  gardens  lay  in  darkness 
checkered  by  the  moonlight. 

Lagardere  turned  to  his  friends.  "She  is  in  Gon- 
zague's  palace.  We  must  rescue  her  at  once." 

Passepoil  appealed  to  him,  pathetically:  "Can  you 
ever  forgive  us?" 

"Yes,"  Lagardere  answered — "yes,  on  one  condi- 
tion. There  is  a  snake  in  this  garden.  Kill  him  for 
me." 

Cocardasse  gave  a  grin  of  appreciation.  "Pey- 
rolles  it  is." 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  was  a  tramp  of  feet  and 
a  flare  of  light  in  a  side  alley,  and  Peyrolles  came  tow- 
ards them  followed  by  half  a  dozen  men,  each  of 
whom  carried  a  torch  in  his  left  hand  and  a  naked 
sword  in  his  right.  Peyrolles  came  towards  the 
hunchback. 

"Well,  ^sop,  we  cannot  find  him  anywhere." 

"That,"  the  hunchback  answered,  coldly,  "is  be- 
cause you  don't  know  where  to  look." 

Peyrolles  turned  to  his  followers.  "Seek  in  all 
directions,"  he  said,  and  the  men  with  the  swords 
and  torches  dispersed  in  twos  down  the  adjacent 
alleys. 

The  hunchback  laid  his  hand  on  Peyrolles's  shoul- 
der. "I  know  where  to  find  him." 

264 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Peyrolles  turned  in  astonishment.     "You  do?" 

"I  am  here!"  the  hunchback  said,  sternly.  He 
drew  himself  up  erect  and  menacing,  and  flung  back 
the  long  hair  from  his  face.  Peyrolles  gave  a  gasp 
of  horror  as  he  recognized  the  man  whom  he  had  seen 
such  a  short  while  before  in  the  presence  of  the 
king. 

"Lagardere!"  he  cried,  and  was  about  to  scream 
for  help  when  Cocardasse  grasped  him  by  the  throat. 
There  was  a  short  struggle,  and  then  Cocardasse  flung 
the  dead  body  of  Peyrolles  at  the  feet  of  Lagardere. 

Lagardere  bent  over  him  and  spoke  his  epitaph: 
"The  last  of  the  lackeys.  Now  for  the  master." 


XXVI 

THE    REWARD    OF    JESOP 

PARIS  lay  quiet  enough  between  the  midnight 
and  the  dawn.  All  the  noise  and  brilliance  and 
turbulence,  all  the  gayety  and  folly  and  fancy  of  the 
royal  ball  had  died  away  and  left  the  Palais  Royal 
and  the  capital  to  peace.  Little  waves  of  frivolity 
had  drifted  this  way  and  that  from  the  ebbing  sea  to 
the  haven  of  this  great  house  and  that  great  house, 
where  certain  of  those  that  had  made  merry  in  the 
king's  gardens  now, made  merrier  still  at  a  supper  as 
of  the  gods.  The  Palace  of  Gonzague  was  one  of  those 
great  houses.  The  hall  where  the  Three  Louis  gazed 
at  one  another — one  so  brave,  one  so  comely,  one  so 
royal — was  indeed  a  brilliant  solitude  where  the  lights 
of  many  candles  illuminated  only  the  painted  can- 
vases throned  over  emptiness.  But  from  behind  the 
great  gilded  doors  came  the  sound  of  many  voices, 
men's  voices  and  women's  voices,  full  of  mirth  and 
the  clatter  of  glasses.  His  Highness  Prince  Louis 
de  Gonzague  was  entertaining  at  supper  a  chosen 
company  of  friends — flowers  from  the  king's  garland 
carefully  culled.  There  were  the  brilliant,  insolent 

266 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

youths,  who  formed  the  party  of  Gonzague ;  there  were 
the  light,  bright,  desirable  women  whom  the  party 
of  Gonzague  especially  favored  among  the  many  of 
their  kind  in  Paris.  Noce"  was  there,  and  Oriol  and 
Taranne  and  Navailles  and  the  others,  and  the  dainty, 
daring,  impudent  Cidalise  and  her  sisters  of  the 
opera,  and  Oriel's  flame,  who  made  game  of  him — all 
very  pretty,  all  very  greedy,  as  greedy  of  food  and 
wine  as  they  were  greedy  of  gold  and  kisses,  and  all 
very  merry.  One  face  was  wanting  from  the  habitual 
familiars  of  Gonzague.  The  little,  impertinent  Mar- 
quis de  Chavernay  was  not  present.  Gonzague  had 
not  thought  fit  to  include  him  in  the  chosen  of  that 
night.  Chavernay  was  getting  to  be  too  critical  of 
his  kinsman's  conduct.  Chavernay  was  not  as  sym- 
pathetic with  his  kinsman's  ambitions  and  wishes  as 
his  kinsman  would  have  had  him  be. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  the  illustrious  host, 
beaming  with  an  air  of  joyousness  that  astonished 
even  his  friends.  It  was  as  though  the  sun  that  had 
shone  for  so  long  upon  all  their  lives,  and  in  whose 
light  and  heat  they  had  prospered,  had  suddenly  taken 
upon  himself  a  braver  radiance,  a  fiercer  effulgence,  in 
the  glow  of  which  they  all,  men  and  women  alike, 
seemed  to  feel  their  personal  fortunes  patently  flour- 
ishing. No  one  knew  why  Louis  de  Gonzague  was  so 
gladsome  that  night;  no  one,  of  course,  ventured  to 
ask  the  reason  of  his  gayety.  It  was  enough  for  those, 
his  satellites,  who  prospered  by  his  favor  and  who 
battened  on  his  bounty  that  the  prince,  who  was  their 

267 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

leader,  chose  on  this  occasion  to  show  a  spirit  of  care- 
less mirth  that  made  the  thought  of  serving  him,  and 
of  gaining  by  that  service,  more  than  ever  attractive. 

Outside,  in  the  deserted  hall,  the  Three  Louis  stared 
at  one  another,  heedless  of  the  laughter  behind  the 
gilded  doors,  indifferent  to  the  hilarity,  regardless  of 
the  license  characteristic  of  a  supper-party  in  such  a 
house  at  such  an  hour.  For  long  enough  the  Three 
Louis  kept  one  another  company,  while  the  great 
wax  candles  dwindled  slowly,  and  the  noise  and 
laughter  beyond  seemed  interminable.  Then  the  door 
of  the  antechamber  opened,  and  the  hunchback  en- 
tered the  hall  and  paused  for  a  moment,  glancing  at 
each  of  the  Three  Louis,  with  a  look  of  love  for  one, 
a  look  of  hate  for  the  other,  and  a  look  of  homage 
for  the  third.  At  the  hunchback's  heels  came  Co- 
cardasse  and  Passepoil ,  waiting  on  events.  The  hunch- 
back stood  for  a  moment  listening  to  the  noise  and 
jollity  beyond  the  doors.  Then  he  turned  to  his  fol- 
lowers: 

"My  enemy  makes  merry  to-night.  I  think  I  shall 
take  the  edge  off  his  merriment  by-and-by.  But  the 
trick  has  its  risks,  and  we  hazard  our  lives.  Would 
you  like  to  leave  the  game?  I  can  play  it  alone." 

Cocardasse  answered  with  his  favorite  salute:  "I 
am  with  you  in  this  if  it  ends  in  the  gallows." 

Passepoil  commented:  "That's  my  mind." 

Lagardere  looked  at  them  as  one  looks  at  friends 
who  act  in  accordance  with  one's  expectation  of  them. 
'Thanks,  friends,"  he  said.  Then  he  sat  at  Gon- 
268 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

zague's  table,  dipped  pen  in  ink,  and  wrote  two  hur- 
ried letters.  One  he  handed  to  Cocardasse.  "This 
letter  to  the  king,  instantly."  The  other  he  handed 
to  Passepoil.  "This  to  Gonzague's  notary,  instantly." 
Come  back  and  wait  in  the  anteroom.  When  you 
hear  me  cry  out,  'Lagardere,  I  am  here,'  into  the 
room  and  out  with  your  swords  for  the  last  chance 
and  the  last  fight." 

Cocardasse  laid  his  hand  on  the  sham  hump  of  the 
sham  ^Esop.  "Courage,  comrade,  the  devil  is  dead." 

Lagardere  laughed  at  him,  something  wistfully. 
"Not  yet." 

Passepoil  suggested,  timidly:  "We  live  in  hopes." 

Then  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil  went  out  through 
the  antechamber,  and  Lagardere  remained  alone 
with  the  Three  Louis.  He  rose  again  and  looked  at 
them  each  in  turn,  and  his  mind  was  hived  with 
memories  as  he  gazed.  Before  Louis  de  Nevers  he 
thought  of  those  old  days  in  Paris  when  the  name  of 
the  fair  and  daring  duke  was  on  the  lips  of  all  men 
and  of  all  women,  and  when  he  met  him  for  the  first 
time  and  got  his  lesson  in  the  famous  thrust,  and 
when  he  met  him  for  the  second  and  last  time  in  the 
moat  at  Caylus  and  gave  him  the  pledge  of  brother- 
hood. Looking  now  on  the  beautiful,  smiling  face, 
Lagardere  extended  his  hand  to  the  painted  cloth, 
as  if  he  almost  hoped  that  the  painted  hand  could 
emerge  from  it  and  clasp  his  again  in  fellowship,  and 
so  looking  he  renewed  the  pledge  of  brotherhood  and 
silently  promised  the  murdered  man  a  crown  of  revenge. 

269 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

He  turned  to  the  picture  of  Louis  de  Gonzague ,  and 
he  thought  of  his  speech  in  the  moat  of  Caylus  with 
the  masked  shadow,  and  of  the  sudden  murder  of 
Nevers,  and  of  his  own  assault  upon  the  murderer, 
and  how  he  set  his  mark  upon  his  wrist.  The  ex- 
pression on  Lagardere's  face  was  cold  and  grave  and 
fatal  as  he  studied  this  picture.  If  Gonzague  could 
have  seen  his  face  just  then  he  would  not  have  made 
so  merry  beyond  the  folded  doors. 

Lagardere  turned  to  the  third  Louis,  the  then 
solemn,  the  then  pale,  Louis  of  France,  and  gave 
him  a  military  salute.  "  Monseigneur,"  he  murmured, 
"you  are  an  honest  man  and  a  fine  gentleman,  and  I 
trust  you  cheerfully  for  my  judge  to-night."  Turning, 
he  advanced  to  the  doors  that  shut  him  off  from  the 
noisy  folk  at  supper,  and  listened  for  a  moment,  with 
his  head  against  the  woodwork,  to  the  revelry  beyond, 
an  ironical  smile  on  his  face.  Then,  as  one  who  re- 
calls himself  abruptly  to  work  that  has  to  be  done, 
he  who  had  been  standing  straight  when  he  con- 
templated the  images  now  stooped  again  into  the 
crippled  form  of  the  hunchback  and  shook  his  hair 
about  his  face.  Raising  his  hand,  he  tapped  thrice 
on  a  panel  of  the  doors,  then  moved  slowly  down  to 
the  centre  of  the  hall.  A  moment  later  the  doors 
parted  a  little,  and  Gonzague  entered  the  room,  clos- 
ing the  doors  behind  him. 

He  advanced  at  once  to  where  the  hunchback 
awaited  him.  "Your  news?"  he  cried. 

The  hunchback  made  a  gesture  of  reassurance. 
270 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

"Sleep  in  peace.     I  have  settled  Lagardere's  busi- 
ness." 

Gonzague  gave  a  great  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "He 
is  dead?"  he  questioned. 

The  hunchback  spoke,  warmly.  "As  dead  as  my 
hate  could  wish  him." 

"And  his  body?"  Gonzague  questioned. 

The  hunchback  answered:  "I  have  concealed  his 
body  very  effectively." 

Gonzague  brought  his  palms  together  silently  in 
silent  applause.  "Excellent  ^Esop!  Where  is  Pey- 
rolles?"  he  asked. 

The  hunchback  paused  for  a  moment  before  reply- 
ing. "He  sends  his  excuses.  The  events  of  the  night 
have  upset  him.  But  I  think  he  will  be  with  you  soon. " 

The  indisposition  of  Peyrolles  did  not  seem  to  affect 
his  master  very  profoundly.  What,  indeed,  did  it 
matter  at  such  a  moment  to  a  man  who  knew  that 
his  great  enemy  was  harmless  at  last  and  that  his 
own  plans  and  ambitions  were  safe  ?  Gonzague  came 
nearer  to  the  hunchback. 

"^sop,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Lagardere's  girl  is 
Nevers's  daughter.  She  has  his  features,  his  eyes, 
his  hair.  Her  mother  would  recognize  her  in  a  mo- 
ment if  she  saw  her,  but — " 

He  paused,  and  the  hunchback  repeated  his  last 
word  interrogatively:  "But — ?" 

Gonzague  smiled,  not  enigmatically.  "She  never 
will  see  her.  Nevers's  daughter  is  not  destined  to 
live  long." 

271 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Well  at  ease  now,  and  more  than  ever  in  the  mood 
for  joyous  company,  Gonzague  turned  to  re-enter  the 
supper-room,  but  the  hunchback  clawed  at  him  and 
brought  him  to  a  halt.  Gonzague  stared  at  his  fol- 
lower in  a  bewilderment  which  the  hunchback  pro- 
ceeded partially  to  enlighten.  "You  have  forgotten 
something." 

"What?"  asked  Gonzague,  in  amazement. 

The  hunchback  made  a  little,  appealing  gesture. 
"Little  ^Esop  wants  his  reward." 

Gonzague  thought  he  understood  now.  "True. 
What  is  your  price?" 

The  hunchback,  more  bowed  than  ever,  with  his 
hair  more  than  ever  huddled  about  his  face,  swayed 
his  crippled  body  whimsically,  and  when  he  spoke 
he  spoke,  apologetically:  "I  am  a  man  of  strange 
fancies,  highness." 

Gonzague  was  annoyed  at  these  preliminaries  to  a 
demand,  this  beating  about  the  bush  for  payment. 
"Don't  plague  me  with  your  fancies.  Your  price ?" 

The  hunchback  spoke,  slowly,  like  a  man  who 
measures  his  words  and  enjoys  the  process  of  meas- 
urement: "If  I  killed  Lagardere,  it  was  not  solely 
to  please  you.  It  was  partly  to  please  myself.  I 
was  jealous." 

Gonzague  smiled  slightly.  "Of  his  swordsman- 
ship ?" 

The  hunchback  protested,  vehemently.  "No,  I  was 
his  equal  there.  I  was  jealous  of  his  luck  in  love." 

Gonzague  laughed.     "^Esop  in  love!" 
272 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

The  hunchback  seemed  to  take  the  laugh  in  good 
part,  "^sop  is  in  love,  and  you  can  give  him  his 
heart's  desire.  She  was  in  Lagardere's  keeping.  She 
is  now  in  yours.  Give  her  to  me." 

Gonzague  almost  reeled  under  the  amazing  im- 
pudence of  the  suggestion.  "Gabrielle  de  Nevers! 
Madman!" 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  the  hunchback  inter- 
rupted his  laugh.  "Wait.  You  have  to  walk  over 
two  dead  women  to  touch  the  wealth  of  Nevers.  I 
offer  to  take  one  woman  out  of  your  way.  Do  not 
kill  Gabrielle;  give  her  to  me." 

Gonzague  stared  for  a  while  at  the  hunchback  in 
silence.  "I  believe  the  rogue  is  serious,"  he  said, 
more  as  a  reflection  addressed  to  himself  than  as  a 
remark  addressed  to  the  hunchback. 

But  the  hunchback  answered  it:  "Yes,  for  I  love 
her.  Give  her  to  me,  and  I  will  take  her  far  away 
from  Paris,  and  you  shall  never  hear  of  her  again. 
She  will  no  longer  be  the  daughter  of  Nevers;  she 
will  be  the  wife  of  JEsop  the  hunchback." 

The  proposition  was  not  unpleasing  to  Louis  of 
Gonzague.  It  certainly  seemed  to  offer  a  way  of 
getting  rid  of  the  girl  without  the  necessity  of  kill- 
ing her,  and  Gonzague  was  too  fastidious  to  desire  to 
commit  murder  where  murder  was  wholly  unneces- 
sary, but  the  thing  seemed  impossible.  "She  would 
never  consent,"  he  protested. 

The  hunchback  laughed  softly,  a  low  laugh  of  self- 
confidence.  "Look  at  me,  monseigneur,"  he  said, 
is  273 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"^Esop  the  hunchback,  but  do  not  laugh  while  you 
look  and  damn  me  for  an  impossible  gallant.  Crook- 
ed and  withered  as  I  am,  I  have  power  to  make 
women  love  me.  Let  me  try.  If  I  fail  to  win  the 
girl,  do  what  you  please  with  her,  and  I  will  ask  no 
more." 

Gonzague  looked  keenly  at  the  bowed,  supplicating 
figure.  "Are  you  thinking  of  playing  me  false?"  he 
murmured.  "Do  you  dream  of  taking  the  girl  to 
give  her  to  her  mother?" 

The  hunchback  laughed  —  a  dry,  strident  laugh. 
"Would  JEsop  be  a  welcome  son-in-law  to  the  Prin- 
cess de  Gonzague?" 

Gonzague  seemed  to  feel  the  force  of  the  hunch- 
back's reasoning.  To  marry  the  girl  to  this  malform- 
ed assassin  was  to  destroy  her  more  utterly,  she  still 
living,  than  to  destroy  her  by  taking  her  life.  ' '  Well , ' ' 
he  said — ' '  well,  you  shall  try  your  luck.  If  she  marries 
you,  she  is  out  of  my  way.  If  she  refuses  you,  you 
shall  be  avenged  for  her  disdain.  We  can  always 
revert  to  my  first  intention." 

A  slight  shudder  seemed  to  pass  over  the  distorted 
form  of  the  hunchback,  but  he  responded  with  fa- 
miliar confidence:  "She  will  not  disdain  me." 

Gonzague  laughed.  "Confident  wooer.  When  do 
you  mean  to  woo  ?" 

The  hunchback  came  a  little  nearer  to  him  and 
spoke,  eagerly:  "No  time  like  the  present,  highness. 
I  thought  that  on  this  night  of  triumph  for  you  I 
could  provide  for  you  and  your  friends  such  an  en- 

274 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

tertainment  as  no  other  man  in  all  Paris  could  com- 
mand. I  have  ventured  to  summon  your  notary. 
Let  your  supper  be  my  wedding-feast,  your  guests 
my  witnesses.  Bring  the  girl  and  I  will  win  her.  I 
am  sure  of  it — sure." 

Gonzague  was  too  well-bred,  too  scholarly  a  man 
not  to  have  a  well-bred,  scholarly  sense  of  humor. 
His  nimble  Italian  fancy  saw  at  once  the  contrasts 
between  his  noisy  company  of  light  men  and  loose 
women  and  the  withered  hunchback  who  was  a  mur- 
derer and  the  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had  robbed 
of  her  birthright  and  was  now  ready  to  rob  of  her 
honor.  "It  will  be  a  good  jest,"  he  murmured. 

The  hunchback  indorsed  his  words:  "The  best 
jest  in  the  world.  You  will  laugh  and  laugh  and 
laugh  to  watch  the  hunchback's  courtship." 

Gonzague  turned  again  towards  the  doors.  "I 
must  rejoin  my  guests,"  he  said;  "but  you  look  some- 
thing glum  and  dull  for  a  suitor.  You  should  have 
fine  clothes,  fellow;  they  will  stimulate  your  tongue 
when  you  come  to  the  wooing.  Go  to  my  steward  for 
a  wedding-garment.  Your  bride  will  be  here  when 
you  return." 

The  hunchback's  bowed  head  came  nearer  still  to 
earth  in  his  profound  inclination.  "You  overwhelm 
me  with  kindness." 

Gonzague  paused,  with  his  hand  on  the  door,  to 
look  at  him  again.  "You  kill  Lagardere;  you  marry 
Gabrielle.  Do  I  owe  you  most  as  bravo  or  bride- 
groom?" 

275 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Again  the  hunchback  abased  himself.  "Your  high- 
ness shall  decide  by-and-by."  Then  he  turned  and 
went  out  through  the  antechamber  and  left  Gon- 
zague  alone. 

Gonzague  rubbed  his  hands.  "^Esop  is  my  good 
genius."  Then  he  touched  a  bell  and  a  servant  en- 
tered, to  whom  he  gave  instructions.  "Tell  Madame 
Berthe  to  come  with  the  girl  who  was  placed  in  her 
charge  to-night." 

The  servant  bowed  and  disappeared.  Gonzague 
went  to  the  golden  doors  and  threw  them  open. 
Standing  in  the  aperture,  he  summoned  his  friends  to 
join  him.  Instantly  there  was  a  great  noise  of  rising 
revellers,  of  chairs  set  back,  of  glasses  set  down,  of  fans 
caught  up,  of  fluttered  skirts  and  lifted  rapiers.  Men 
and  women,  the  guests  of  Gonzague,  flooded  from  the 
supper-room  into  the  great  hall,  and  under  the  gaze 
of  the  Three  Louis,  Oriol  with  his  fancy,  Navailles 
with  Cidalise,  Taranne,  Noce",  and  the  others,  each 
with  his  raddled  Egeria  of  the  opera-house  and  the 
ballet.  As  they  fluttered  and  flirted  and  laughed  and 
chattered  into  the  great  hall,  Gonzague  held  up  his 
hand  for  a  moment,  as  one  that  calls  for  silence,  and 
in  a  moment  the  revellers  were  silent. 

Gonzague  spoke:  "Friends,  I  have  good  news. 
Lagardere  is  dead." 

A  wild  burst  of  applause  greeted  these  words.  The 
pretty  women  clapped  their  hands  as  they  would 
have  clapped  them  in  the  theatre  for  some  dance  or 
song  that  took  their  fancy.  The  men  were  not  less 

276 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

enthusiastic.  The  difference  between  the  men  and 
the  women  was  that  the  men  applauded  because  they 
knew  why  their  master  was  pleased;  the  women  ap- 
plauded because  their  master  was  pleased  without  ask- 
ing the  reason  why.  The  name  of  Lagardere  meant 
little  or  nothing  to  them. 

Noce*  spoke  a  short  funeral  oration:  "The  scamp 
has  cheated  the  gallows." 

When  the  applause  had  died  down,  Gonzague  spoke 
again:  "Also  I  have  good  sport  for  you.  To-night 
you  shall  witness  a  wedding." 


XXVII 

JESOP    IN    LOVE 

AxAIN  the  applause  broke  forth.  Oriol,  his  round 
eyes  growing  rounder,  echoed  the  last  words  as  a 
question:  "A  wedding?" 

Gonzague  nodded.  "A  wonderful  wedding.  The 
bride  is  a  beauty,  and  the  bridegroom  is  ^sop." 

Navailles  looked  round  over  his  companions  and 
sighed  for  the  absence  of  a  choice  spirit.  "How 
Chavernay  would  have  laughed!"  he  said.  "I  wish 
he  were  here." 

"I  did  not  invite  Chavernay,"  Gonzague  replied, 
coldly. 

And  even  as  he  spoke  the  door  of  the  antechamber 
opened  and  Chavernay  made  his  appearance  unan- 
nounced, as  briskly  impudent,  as  cheerfully  self-con- 
fident as  ever.  He  shook  a  finger  in  playful  reproof 
at  Gonzague  as  he  advanced,  wholly  unimpressed  by 
the  slight  frown  which  knitted  the  brows  of  his  un- 
expected host.  "It  was  most  unkind  of  you;  but  an- 
other makes  good  your  neglect,  whose  invitation  I 
really  had  not  the  strength  of  purpose  to  refuse." 

Gonzague's  irritation  was  not  altogether  dissipated 
278 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

by  the  coolness  of  his  kinsman,  but  he  judged  that 
any  show  of  anger  was  unbefitting  so  felicitous  an 
occasion,  so  he  smiled  slightly  as  he  asked:  "Who  in- 
vites you?" 

Chavernay  looked  all  around  him,  scanning  the 
faces  of  the  men  in  the  brilliant  group  of  Gonzague's 
guests,  as  if  seeking  there  a  countenance  he  failed 
to  find.  Then  he  answered,  in  a  tone  of  voice  that 
was  unusually  grave  for  the  light-hearted  marquis: 
"Henri  de  Lagardere." 

At  the  sound  of  that  name  a  thrill  ran  through  the 
guests,  and  all  echoed  with  astonishment  the  name 
of  Lagardere. 

Gonzague  looked  at  Chavernay  with  a  pitying 
smile.  "You  come  too  late,"  he  said,  "if  you  come 
at  the  summons  of  such  a  host.  Lagardere  is  dead." 

Chavernay  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise,  while  the 
others,  to  whom  the  news  had  been  good  news  some 
little  while  ago,  but  was  no  news  at  all  now,  laughed 
boisterously  at  his  expected  discomfiture.  But  Cha- 
vernay did  not  seem  to  be  discomfited,  and  seemed 
inclined  to  doubt  the  tidings.  "Dead?"  he  said. 
"Why,  he  wrote  to  me  to  meet  him  here  at  two 
o'clock." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  from  his  breast  a  folded  piece 
of  paper  and  extended  it  to  Gonzague,  who  took  it 
with  a  reluctance,  even  with  a  repugnance,  which  he 
controlled  because  it  was  so  clearly  unreasonable. 
The  paper  contained  a  few  words  written  in  a  bold, 
soldierly  hand.  They  ran  thus: 

279 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"  Meet  me  to-night  at  two  o'clock  at  the  palace  of  the 
Prince  de  Gonzague.  HENRI  DE  LAGARDERE." 

Gonzague  returned  the  paper  to  Chavernay  with 
an  ironical  smile.  "Somebody  has  been  hoaxing 
you,"  he  said.  "You  will  not  meet  Lagardere  here." 

Taranne  consulted  his  watch.  "It  is  now  two 
o'clock,"  he  said,  and  showed  the  dial  to  Chavernay, 
who  looked  puzzled,  but  also  unconvinced. 

"No  one  will  come,"  said  Navailles,  mockingly. 

At  that  moment  Chavernay's  quick  ear  caught  the 
sound  of  footsteps  in  the  private  passage  outside, 
and  called  attention  to  the  sound.  "Some  one  is 
coming.  Is  it  Lagardere?" 

As  he  spoke  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  door.  So 
firmly  had  the  fear  of  Lagardere  emanated  from  the 
consciousness  of  Gonzague  to  impress  the  hearts  of 
his  party  that  even  then,  when  all  present  had  the 
assurance  from  their  leader  that  Lagardere  was  dead 
and  done  with,  their  conviction  not  unsettled,  indeed, 
but  somewhat  disturbed  by  Chavernay's  words  and 
Chavernay's  strange  message,  waited  with  uneasy 
expectation  for  what  might  happen.  Then  the  door 
opened  fully,  and  the  hunchback  came  into  the 
room,  dressed  now  with  a  splendor  of  attire  which 
seemed  to  contrast  more  grotesquely  than  his  wonted 
sable  with  his  twisted,  withered  figure.  All  present, 
including  Gonzague,  had  for  the  moment  forgot- 
ten the  existence  of  the  hunchback.  All  present, 
with  the  exception  of  Chavernay,  burst  into  the 

280 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

loud   laughter    of    relieved    nerves    as    they   beheld 
him. 

"This  is  not  Lagardere,"  said  Oriol,  holding  his 
fat  sides. 

The  hunchback  laughed  a  mocking  laugh  in  answer 
to  the  amusement  of  the  company  and  the  amaze- 
ment of  Chavernay.  "Who  speaks  of  Lagardere? 
Who  remembers  Lagardere?  ^sop  is  the  hero  of 
this  feast;  ^Esop  is  a  gentleman  to-night,  with  a  silk 
coat  on  his  back  and  a  lace  kerchief  in  his  fingers. 
He  woos  a  beauty,  and  the  chivalry  of  France  shall 
witness  his  triumph.  Lagardere  is  dead!  Long  live 
^sop,  who  killed  him!" 

The  little  marquis  advanced  towards  the  jesting 
hunchback  with  clinched  hands  and  angry  eyes. 
"Assassin!"  he  cried,  and  seemed  as  if  he  would  take 
the  hunchback  by  the  throat,  but  Gonzague  came  be- 
tween his  kinsman  and  his  servant,  saying,  coldly: 
"Whoever  insults  ^Esop,  insults  me.  JEsop  marries 
the  girl  whom  Lagardere  called  Gabrielle  de  Nevers." 

Chavernay  folded  his  arms  and  looked  fiercely 
around  him.  "Now  I  know  why  Lagardere  sent  for 
me — to  defend  a  helpless  woman." 

The  hunchback  drolled  at  him:  "She  will  not  need 
your  championship.  She  will  accept  with  joy  the 
hunchback's  hand." 

Chavernay  shook  his  head  scornfully.  "That  will 
never  happen." 

The  hunchback  answered  him,  coolly:  "That  will 
happen,  Monsieur  de  Chavernay." 

281 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

At  that  moment  the  door  opposite  to  the  ante- 
chamber opened,  and  the  figure  of  a  fair  girl  ap- 
peared. 

"Your  bride  approaches,"  said  Gonzague,  and 
moved  towards  the  new-comer,  suddenly  pausing 
with  an  angry  frown  as  he  perceived  that  she  was  not 
alone,  for  Gabrielle,  very  pale,  but  with  courage  in 
her  eyes  and  determination  on  her  lips,  entered  the 
room  accompanied  by  the  gypsy  girl  Flora.  To  Flora 
Gonzague  spoke,  angrily:  "  Why  are  you  here  ?  This 
is  no  place  for  you." 

The  gypsy  looked  at  him  defiantly.  ' '  This  is  my 
place,"  she  said,  "for  I  have  found  my  friend,  and  I 
think  she  needs  my  friendship." 

Gonzague  spoke,  imperiously:  "Retire,  Mademoi- 
selle de  Nevers!" 

The  gypsy  girl  gave  him  no  answer,  but  held  her 
ground  mutinously.  Gabrielle  moved  a  little  away 
from  her  friend's  side.  She  asserted  her  right  firmly. 
"I  am  Gabrielle  de  Nevers." 

Again  Gonzague  addressed  Flora:  "Mademoiselle 
de  Nevers,"  he  said,  "have  you  not  undeceived  this 
unfortunate,  this  misguided  girl?" 

Flora  answered  him,  steadily:  "No,  highness,  for  I 
believe  her." 

Gonzague  began  to  lose  his  patience.  He  was 
bound,  in  the  presence  of  his  friends,  to  keep  up  the 
assumption  of  belief  in  the  gentility  of  Flora,  in  her 
heirship  to  Nevers.  He  addressed  her,  harshly: 
"Mademoiselle  de  Nevers,  if  you  are  mad  enough 

282 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

to  wish  to  abandon  your  rights  to  an  impostor,  I  am 
here  to  protect  you,  and  I  order  you  at  once  to  retire." 

Flora  gave  no  sign  of  obedience,  and  Gabrielle 
spoke  again:  "I  am  Gabrielle  de  Nevers.  Why  have 
I  been  brought  here?" 

Gonzague  turned  to  her,  and  his  manner  was  that 
of  a  judge  coolly  courteous  to  one  whom  he  professed 
to  believe  possibly  innocent  of  complicity  in  sin: 
"You  have  been  brought  here  because  I  did  not  wish 
to  deliver  you  to  the  stern  justice  of  the  law.  Your 
offence  is  grave,  but  the  fault  lies  with  your  accom- 
plice, and  his  alone  the  penalty." 

Gabrielle  looked  all  about  her,  sustaining  bravely 
the  bold  stares  of  the  dancing-women  and  the  evil 
admiration  of  the  men.  "Where  is  Henri  de  Lagar- 
dere?"  she  asked;  and  then,  as  only  silence  followed 
upon  her  question,  she  cried:  "Ah,  he  must  be  dead, 
since  he  is  not  here  to  defend  me." 

Gonzague  confirmed  her  fears:    "He  is  dead." 

Chavernay,  who  had  kept  resolutely  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  guests,  now  advanced  to  the  beautiful 
girl  who  stood  there  alone  and  friendless,  save  for 
Flora,  and  made  her  a  respectful  bow.  "I  will  de- 
fend you  in  his  name,"  he  said,  simply. 

Flora  clapped  her  hands.  "Bravo,  little  man!" 
she  cried. 

Gonzague,  with  a  stern  gesture,  motioned  to  Cha- 
vernay to  stand  back.  "You  presume,"  he  said.  "I 
offer  this  deluded  girl  protection.  It  is  for  me  to 
see  that  she  is  properly  provided  for." 

283 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Gabrielle  gave  him  a  glance  that  pierced  through 
his  specious  protestations.  "You  wish  the  daughter 
of  Nevers  to  die.  If  you  have  killed  Lagardere,  I 
have  no  wish  to  live." 

Gonzague  answered  her,  urbanely:  "You  take  the 
matter  too  seriously.  You  have  shared  an  imposture. 
I  propose  to  shield  you  from  punishment.  You  shall 
tramp  the  highways  no  longer.  Here  is  an  honest 
gentleman  ready  to  marry  you,  to  forgive  and  to  for- 
get. Advance,  ^Esop." 

At  that  command  the  hunchback,  who  had  been 
leaning  against  a  chair  an  apparently  amused  spec- 
tator of  the  not  untragic  scene,  shambled  slowly  for- 
ward more  ungainly  than  ever  in  his  finery,  his  long 
sword  swinging  grotesquely  against  his  legs. 

Flora  gave  a  cry  of  indignation.  "Are  you  mad? 
That  monster!" 

The  hunchback's  answer  to  her  words  was  a  comic 
bow,  which  made  Gonzague's  friends  laugh.  Gabrielle 
looked  at  the  laughing  gentlemen,  and  there  was  some- 
thing so  brave,  so  stately  in  her  gaze  that  the  laughter 
died  away. 

"Gentlemen,"  she  said,  "you  bear  honorable  names, 
you  wear  honorable  swords.  Gentlemen,  the  daugh- 
ter of  Nevers  appeals  to  you  to  protect  her  from  in- 
sult." 

Even  Gonzague's  band,  hardened  by  the  influence 
of  long  association  with  their  master,  could  not  hear 
that  appeal  unmoved,  though  no  man  among  them 
made  any  motion  of  responding  to  it. 

284 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Chavernay,  however,  rested  his  hand  lightly  upon 
his  sword-hilt.  "Rely  on  me,"  he  said,  boldly. 

Gonzague  looked  at  him  contemptuously.  "No 
heroics,  sir.  The  lady  is  free  to  choose  between  the 
husband  I  offer  and  the  law  that  chastises  impos- 
tors." He  turned  to  the  hunchback,  who  stood  near 
him.  "I  fear  your  love  affair  goes  ill,  ^Esop." 

The  hunchback  did  not  seem  at  all  disheartened. 
"  It  will  go  better  when  I  take  it  in  hand  myself.  Let 
me  speak  to  the  lady  alone." 

Flora  fiercely  protested:  "No,  no,  no!" 

But  Gonzague  turned  to  her  with  a  look  so  men- 
acing that  even  her  courage  quailed  before  it.  "For 
your  friend's  sake,  be  quiet,  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers," 
he  said.  Taking  Flora  by  the  hand,  he  drew  her, 
partly  by  main  force  and  partly  by  strength  of  his 
dominating  influence,  away  from  Gabrielle.  Then  he 
turned  to  his  friends.  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  "our  good  ^Esop  desires  to  speak  to  the  lady 
of  his  love  in  private.  We  are  all,  I  am  sure,  too 
sympathetic  with  his  amorous  ambition  to  inter- 
fere with  his  wishes.  Let  him  ply  his  wooing  un- 
troubled. Stand  apart,  please,  and  give  ^sop  a  fair 
field." 

Wondering,  laughing,  whispering,  Gonzague's  guests 
drew  back  and  ranged  themselves  against  the  golden 
doors,  and  Gabrielle  was  left  standing  alone  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  The  hunchback  caught  up  a 
chair  and  carried  it  to  where  she  stood,  making  a 
gesture  which  requested  her  to  be  seated. 

285 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Gabrielle  looked  at  him  scornfully.  "I  have  noth- 
ing to  say  to  you.  I  trust  to  the  justice  of  France." 

The  hunchback  spoke  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  so  even- 
ly calculated  that  every  syllable  of  what  he  said  was 
clear  to  the  girl's  ears,  though  no  syllable  reached  the 
others:  "Do  not  start;  do  not  show  surprise." 

Gabrielle  had  the  strength  of  spirit  to  control  the 
wonder,  the  joy,  the  hope  at  the  sound  of  the  loved 
voice  thus  brought  her  so  suddenly;  but  she  trembled, 
and  her  strength  seemed  to  fail  her.  She  sank  into 
the  chair  which  the  hunchback  had  offered  her.  "My 
God!"  she  murmured,  and  then  said  no  more,  but 
sat  with  clasped  hands  and  rigid  face. 

The  hunchback  spoke  again,  in  the  same  low,  meas- 
ured tones:  "Seem  to  listen  against  your  will.  A 
sign  may  betray  us  both." 

"Henri!"  Gabrielle  murmured. 

The  hunchback  went  on:  "Seem  as  if  you  were  en- 
chanted at  my  words,  by  my  gestures.  They  are 
watching  us." 

Now  the  hunchback  walked  slowly  in  a  circle  round 
the  chair  on  which  Gabrielle  was  seated,  making  as 
he  did  so  fantastic  gestures  with  his  hands  over  her 
head — gestures  which  suggested  to  the  amazed  spec- 
tators some  wizard  busy  with  his  horrid  incanta- 
tions. 

Taranne  nudged  Oriol.     "She  listens." 

"She  seems  pleased,"  Oriol  answered. 

Chavernay  muttered,  angrily:  "This  must  be  witch- 
craft." 

286 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

Noce",  leaning  forward  a  little,  called  to  the  hunch- 
back: "How  speeds  your  suit?" 

The  hunchback  paused  for  a  moment  in  his  round 
to  make  a  motion  for  silence.  "Famously,  gentle- 
men, famously.  But  you  must  not  disturb  my  in- 
cantations." 

Navailles  touched  Noce*  on  the  shoulder.  "Let  the 
dog  have  his  day." 

The  hunchback  was  again  at  the  side  of  Gabrielle, 
still  indulging  in  extravagant  antics  of  gesticulation, 
speaking  softly  the  while.  "Gabrielle,  they  think  me 
dead,  but  I  live  and  hope  to  save  you.  But  we 
face  danger,  dear,  but  we  face  death,  and  must  be 
wary.  Will  you  do  whatever  I  tell  you  to  do?" 

"Yes,"  Gabrielle  answered. 

The  hunchback  went  on:  "God  knows  how  this 
night  will  end.  I  have  told  them  that  I  can  make 
you  love  me." 

Almost  Gabrielle  smiled.  "You  have  told  them 
the  truth." 

The  hunchback  continued:  "I  have  told  them  that 
I  can  persuade  you  to  marry  me." 

Gabrielle  said  again:  "You  have  told  them  the 
truth." 

The  hunchback  sighed.  He  was  still  cutting  his 
strange  capers,  waving  his  extended  fingers  over  the 
girl's  head  and  making  grotesque  genuflections,  but 
he  spoke,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  passion  and  his 
voice  was  full  of  pain  as  he  whispered:  "Gabrielle, 
Gabrielle,  I  have  always  loved  you,  shall  always  love 

287 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

you.  But  you  must  not  love  me,  that  would  never 
do.  Nevers's  daughter  cannot,  may  not,  love  the  sol- 
dier of  fortune." 

"Yet  you  ask  me  to  marry  you?"  Gabrielle  said. 

The  hunchback  answered:  "To  save  you  from  Gon- 
zague.  You  would  have  died  to-night  but  for  this 
mad  plan  of  mine.  Once  you  are  safe,  you  can  easily 
be  set  free  from  me." 

There  was  that  in  Gabrielle 's  eyes  which  the  hunch- 
back could  not  see.  There  was  that  in  Gabrielle 's 
heart  which  the  hunchback  could  not  read.  Ga- 
brielle appreciated  the  nobility  of  the  man  who  was 
trying  to  save  her,  but  Gabrielle  also  understood  the 
strength  of  her  own  love  and  her  own  determination, 
but  she  showed  nothing  of  this  in  her  words.  All  she 
said  was:  "Well,  I  am  not  safe  yet.  What  do  you 
want  me  to  do?" 

The  hunchback  instructed  her.  "Just  say  yes  to 
the  questions  I  shall  ask  you  now  aloud.  Speak  as 
if  you  were  in  a  dream." 

He  drew  back  now  a  little  from  the  girl,  and  turned 
triumphantly  to  the  others,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
has  accomplished  a  very  difficult  task.  Then  he  ap- 
proached Gabrielle  again. 

"Do  you  love  me ?"  he  asked,  in  a  clear  voice  which 
carried  to  all  parts  of  the  room. 

And  the  girl,  looking  straight  before  her  like  one 
that  spoke  in  a  trance,  answered,  clearly:  "I  love  you 
with  all  my  heart,  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever." 

Gonzague,  who  had  been  watching  the  proceedings 
288 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

with  cynical  curiosity,  was  the  most  amazed  of  the 
amazed  spectators.     "Here  is  a  miracle." 

"I'll  not  believe  it,"  Chavernay  protested. 

The  hunchback  made  an  angry  gesture  to  com- 
mand silence.  "Hush!"  he  said,  and  then  again  ad- 
dressed the  girl:  "Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

Gabrielle  answered  as  clearly  as  before:  "I  will  be 
your  wife  gladly.  In  joy  and  in  sorrow,  I  will  be 
your  wife  so  long  as  I  live." 

The  hunchback  turned  triumphantly  to  the  com- 
pany. "Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  you  see  that  my 
suit  prospers.  The  poor  hunchback  was  no  boaster." 

Flora,  seated  near  to  Gonzague,  and  conquered  by 
his  domination  and  by  the  horror  of  the  scene,  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands  and  shuddered.  "It's 
too  horrible,"  she  moaned. 

The  hunchback  nodded  to  her  ironically.  "You 
are  severe,"  he  said,  dryly.  Then  he  turned  to  Gon- 
zague. "There  is  a  friend  of  mine  at  the  door,"  he 
said.  "May  I  introduce  him?" 

Gonzague  nodded,  and  the  hunchback  advanced  to 
the  door  of  the  antechamber. 

Chavernay  looked  after  him  with  haggard  eyes. 
"What  spell  has  the  devil  got?"  he  muttered. 

Gonzague  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "I  am  amazed; 
but  the  knave  has  my  faith,  and,  if  the  lady's  taste 
limps,  shall  we  say  her  nay?" 
19 


XXVIII 

THE    SIGNATURE    OF    JESOP 

BY  this  time  the  hunchback  had  opened  the  door 
and  introduced  to  the  company  a  dapper,  affable 
gentleman  who  was  habited,  as  became  his  calling, 
for  the  most  part  in  black ;  but  he  lent  an  air  of  smart- 
ness to  his  notarial  garb  by  reason  that  the  black  of 
his  coat  and  breeches  was  of  silk,  and  that  he  wore  a 
quantity  of  costly  lace.  This  was  Master  Griveau, 
one  of  the  principal  notaries  of  Paris,  and  a  man  that 
had  been  employed  not  a  little  by  the  Prince  de 
Gonzague.  For  this  reason  his  face  was  familiar  to 
most  of  those  present,  and  the  faces  of  most  of  those 
present  were  familiar  to  Master  Griveau,  and  Master 
Griveau  nodded  and  bowed  and  smirked  and  smiled, 
and  showed  in  a  hundred  little  ways  with  a  hundred 
little  airs  and  graces  that  he  was  quite  the  man  of  the 
world  and  quite  at  home  in  fashionable  circles.  He 
was  accompanied  by  two  of  his  clerks,  who  seemed 
as  anxious  to  efface  themselves  as  their  master  was 
to  assert  his  personality. 

The  hunchback  patted  the  notary  on  the  back  with 
a  pat  that  made  him  give  at  the  knees  and  look  some- 

290 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

what  ruefully  about  him  as  if  an  earthquake  had 
occurred,  and  introduced  him  to  the  company:  "Here, 
sirs,  is  my  Cupid — nay,  better  than  Cupid,  for  Cupid 
had  no  pockets,  whereas  Maitre  Griveau  has,  and 
my  marriage  contract  in  one  of  them." 

Master  Griveau,  with  the  air  of  one  who  could  take 
a  joke  as  well  as  any  man  if  the  joke  were  proffered 
in  august  company,  produced  a  large,  folded  paper 
bound  about  with  green  ribbon.  He  bowed  profound- 
ly to  Gonzague.  "In  accordance,"  he  said,  "with 
monseigneur's  instructions,  as  conveyed  to  me  by 
monseigneur's  " — he  halted  for  a  moment,  and  then 
continued — "Monseigneur's  friend,  the  deed  is  pre- 
pared and  ready  for  signature.  Have  I  monseigneur's 
permission  to  make  a  few  preparations  for  the  in- 
teresting ceremony?" 

Gonzague  nodded,  and  the  brisk  little  man,  with 
the  aid  of  his  two  clerks,  pushed  a  table  into  place, 
arranged  writing  materials,  and,  seating  himself  with 
a  great  air  of  formality,  investigated  a  quill  pen, 
spread  out  his  contract,  and  surveyed  the  company 
with  the  air  of  one  who  should  say:  "I  have  done, 
and  done  well,  all  that  it  becometh  me  to  do;  it  is  now 
for  you  to  play  your  part  in  this  ceremony." 

Gonzague  addressed  the  notary:  "Have  you  en- 
tered the  names  of  groom  and  bride?" 

Master  Griveau  gave  a  little,  protesting  cough.  "I 
do  not  know  them,  your  highness.  I  have  left  blank 
spaces  for  the  names." 

Gonzague  pointed  to  Gabrielle,  where  she  sat 
291 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

apart.  "The  lady  is  Mademoiselle  de  Lagardere." 
Then  he  turned  to  the  hunchback.  "And  you,  what 
is  your  lawful  name,  ^Esop  ?" 

The  hunchback  made  an  appeal  to  Gonzague. 
"Highness,  humor  my  jest  to  the  end.  I  have  kept 
my  real  name  a  secret  long  enough;  let  me  keep  it 
secret  a  little  longer.  Will  you  and  your  friends 
honor  me  by  signing  as  witnesses?  Then  I  will  fill 
in  the  blanks  and  set  down  my  own  name — a  name 
that  will  make  you  laugh." 

Oriol  gave  a  grin.     "^Esop  is  comic  enough." 

Lagardere  nodded  to  him.  "^Esop  is  a  nickname. 
My  true  name  will  divert  you  more.  Sign,  sirs,  sign." 

Master  Griveau,  with  due  solemnity,  unfolded  the 
contract  and  spread  it  before  him.  Then  he  dipped 
a  pen  in  the  ink,  and  stood  waiting  for  the  illustrious 
company  to  sign  the  contract. 

"Give  me  the  pen,"  said  Gonzague.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  tire  a  little  of  the  comedy,  in  spite  of  its 
element  of  marvel,  and  to  wish  the  girl  well  out  of  his 
sight  with  her  hunchback  husband.  He  signed  his 
name  and  held  up  the  pen.  It  was  eagerly  sought 
for.  Taranne  gained  the  privilege  of  taking  it  from 
the  fingers  of  his  master.  Taranne  signed,  Noce" 
signed,  Oriol  signed,  Gironne  signed,  Choisy  signed, 
Albret  signed,  Montaubert  signed.  When  the  pen 
was  offered  to  Chavernay,  Chavernay  put  his  hands 
behind  his  back  and  shook  his  head.  It  came  to 
Navailles  to  sign  last. 

"Now  for  the  happy  pair,"  Navailles  said.     As  he 
292 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

spoke  he  turned  to  where  the  hunchback  and  Ga- 
brielle  stood  together  silent,  a  strangely  contrasted 
bride  and  bridegroom — youth  and  age,  so  it  seemed, 
beauty  and  ugliness,  sin  and  purity.  Truly,  it  ap- 
peared to  be  what  Chavernay  thought  it  and  called 
it — a  damnable  alliance. 

While  the  signing  had  been  toward  the  hunchback 
had  spoken  softly  one  sentence  to  his  bride.  "Ga- 
brielle,"  he  said,  "if  I  die  here,  I  die  as  I  have  lived — 
your  lover." 

And  Gabrielle  had  answered  him  in  the  heart  of 
her  heart:  "I  love  you,  my  lover." 

Now,  when  Navailles  addressed  him,  the  hunch- 
back moved  forward,  and  waved  away  the  little, 
glittering  crowd  of  gentlemen  that  gathered  about 
Master  Griveau  at  the  table,  ordering  them  to  move. 
"Make  space,  sirs,  for  my  wife  and  me.  I  need 
elbow-room  for  my  signature." 

He  advanced  to  the  table,  holding  Gabrielle  by 
the  hand,  and  still,  though  the  humor  of  the  situation 
had  endured  so  long,  even  the  wine-flushed  men  and 
the  wine-flushed  women  seemed  almost  as  conscious 
as  Chavernay  of  the  tragedy  that  underlay  the  hu- 
mor of  the  play.  All  fell  back  and  left  a  free  table 
for  the  hunchback  and  his  bride.  Master  Griveau 
settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  seat  and  took  up 
his  pen.  Turning  to  the  hunchback,  he  began:  "Give 
me  your  names,  your  surnames,  your  birthplaces — 

The  hunchback  interrupted  him:  "Have  you 
signed?" 

293 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

"Certainly,"  Master  Griveau  answered,  something 
astonished  at  being  thus  carelessly  treated. 

"Then,  by  your  leave,"  said  the  hunchback,  and 
dexterously  edged  the  indignant  notary  out  of  the 
chair.  "Leave  the  rest  to  me.  Back,  friends,  till 
I  finish."  Pushing  the  chair  aside,  he  restrained  with 
a  sweep  of  his  arm  the  advancing  crowd  of  gentle- 
men eager  to  see  the  name  that  JEsop  would  ac- 
knowledge. 

While  Master  Griveau,  with  a  very  much  offended 
air,  edged  himself  into  the  circle  of  Gonzague's  friends 
as  one  that  had  earned  the  right  to  move  freely  in 
such  company,  the  hunchback  began  rapidly  to  fill 
in  the  blank  spaces  on  the  parchment  before  him. 

Master  Griveau  felt  it  his  duty  to  say  a  few  words 
of  protest  on  behalf  of  the  slightly  offended  majesty  of 
the  law.  "A  very  extraordinary  ceremony,  highness." 

Gonzague  smiled  ironically,  but  cared  nothing  for 
the  offended  majesty  of  the  law,  so  long  as  his  own 
purposes  were  being  served.  "&sop  is  an  extraor- 
dinary man,"  he  said. 

The  hunchback,  who  had  overheard  this  conversa- 
tion, pointed  with  the  feather  of  the  pen  he  had  just 
been  using  to  Gonzague.  "You  are  right,  prince," 
he  said.  Then  he  gave  the  pen  to  Gabrielle  and 
whispered  to  her,  so  low  that  no  one  heard  him:  "Sign 
Gabrielle  de  Nevers." 

The  girl  took  the  pen  from  his  hand  and  signed  bold- 
ly, though  she  signed  that  signature  for  the  first  time 
in  her  young  life. 

294 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

The  hunchback  took  the  pen  from  her  fingers. 
"Now  my  turn."  Deliberately  and  swiftly  he  signed 
his  name  and  flung  down  the  pen.  Then  he  moved 
back  a  little  way  from  the  table  and  drew  Gabrielle 
behind  him.  He  turned  to  the  expectant  company. 
"Come  and  see,  sirs.  You  will  stare,  I  promise  you." 

All  were  eager  to  press  forward  and  read  the  signa- 
ture, but  all  restrained  their  desire  until  the  curiosity 
of  the  master  of  the  house  was  satisfied.  Gonzague 
advanced  leisurely  to  the  table,  relieved  to  think  the 
comedy  had  come  to  an  end,  and  that  he  had  satis- 
factorily rid  himself  of  an  incubus.  He  bent  care- 
lessly over  the  parchment,  and  then  sprang  back  with 
face  as  pale  and  eyes  as  wild  and  lips  as  trembling 
as  if  on  the  pitiful  piece  of  sheepskin  he  had  seen  some 
terror  as  dread  as  the  face  of  Medusa.  His  twitching 
mouth  whispered  one  word,  but  that  word  was 
"Lagardere!"  and  that  word  was  repeated  on  the  lips 
of  every  man  and  woman  that  watched  him. 

Before  the  eyes  of  all  present  a  new  miracle  hap- 
pened, more  marvellous  than  its  predecessor,  for  the 
hunchback  suddenly  stiffened  himself  and  became 
erect  and  soldierly;  the  hunchback  swept  back  the 
grizzled  locks  that  had  so  long  served  to  conceal  his 
features;  the  hunchback  stood  before  them  a  strong 
and  stalwart  man,  with  drawn  sword  in  his  hand. 
Stretching  out  his  arm,  he  extended  the  sword  be- 
tween Gonzague  and  the  parchment  and  touched  with 
its  point  the  signature  that  was  still  wet  upon  its  sur- 
face. 

295 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

In  a  terrible  voice  he  cried:  "Lagardere,  who  al- 
ways keeps  his  tryst!  I  am  here!" 

For  a  moment  that  seemed  sempiternal  a  kind  of 
horrible  silence  reigned  over  the  room.  It  was  hard 
to  understand  what  had  happened.  The  startled 
guests  stared  at  one  another,  terrified  by  the  terror 
on  Gonzague's  face,  amazed  at  the  metamorphosis  of 
the  hunchback,  shuddering  at  the  name  of  Lagar- 
dere. The  first  to  recover  courage,  composure,  and 
resolution  was  Gonzague  himself.  He  sprang  from 
the  table  to  where  his  friends  stood  together  and  drew 
his  sword. 

Pointing  to  where  Lagardere  stood,  with  Gabrielle 
clinging  to  his  arm,  he  cried:  "He  must  not  escape! 
Your  swords,  friends!  It  is  but  one  man!" 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  and  while  Lagardere  was 
waiting  with  lifted  sword  for  the  inevitable  attack, 
Chavernay  crossed  the  room  and  stood  at  Lagardere 's 
side.  "We  shall  be  two!"  he  cried,  and  drew  his 
sword. 

At  the  same  moment  the  doors  of  the  antechamber 
opened,  and  Cocardasse  and  Passepoil,  with  their 
naked  swords  in  their  hands,  entered  and  ranged 
themselves  on  the  side  of  Lagardere. 

"We  shall  be  three!"  said  Cocardasse. 

"We  shall  be  four!"  said  Passepoil. 

The  situation  was  changed,  but  the  situation  was 
still  perilous.  On  the  one  side  of  the  splendid  room 
stood  Lagardere,  with  Chavernay,  Cocardasse,  and 
Passepoil,  their  gleaming  weapons  ready  for  attack. 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

On  the  other  side,  with  a  great  gap  of  space  between 
the  two  parties,  stood  Gonzague  and  his  cluster  of 
light  friends,  every  man  of  whom  had  bared  his  rapier 
and  was  ready  to  obey  the  summons  of  his  chief. 
Behind  these  the  women  huddled  together,  some 
screaming,  but  the  most  part  too  frightened  to  scream. 
Flora,  overstrained,  had  fainted. 

Lagardere  taunted  Gonzague.  "Come,  monseign- 
eur,"  he  said,  "are  you  afraid?  The  odds  are  not  so 
favorable  as  they  were  at  Caylus." 

With  a  writhing  face  Gonzague  screamed  to  his 
friends:  "Charge!" 

And  Lagardere  answered  with  a  ringing  cry:  "I 
am  here!" 

In  another  moment  the  two  parties  would  have  met 
and  blended  in  battle;  but  before  Gonzague's  followers 
could  obey  his  command  and  follow  his  lead,  they 
were  stiffened  into  immobility  by  a  sudden  knocking 
at  the  golden  doors.  At  that  unexpected  sound  every 
sword  was  lowered,  and  then  from  beyond  a  stern 
voice  came,  commanding:  "Open,  in  the  king's  name!" 


XXIX 

THE     DEAD     SPEAKS 

I MMEDIATELY  the  golden  doors  were  flung  open, 
I  and  Bonnivet  entered  from  the  supper  -  room,  fol- 
lowed by  a  company  of  soldiers. 

Gonzague  turned  to  Bonnivet,  indignant  and  be- 
wildered. "What  does  this  mean?"  he  gasped. 

Bonnivet 's  answer  was  to  salute  with  his  sword, 
as  he  announced:  "His  majesty  the  king!"  And 
through  the  double  line  of  soldiers  Louis  of  France 
entered  the  room  with  the  Princess  de  Gonzague  on 
his  arm. 

The  king  looked  with  astonishment  at  the  strange 
scene  before  him — the  fainting  women,  the  two  camps 
of  armed  men,  the  scattered  furniture.  The  Princess 
de  Gonzague  looked  only  at  the  girl,  who  now  hung 
so  lovingly  upon  the  arm  of  Lagardere. 

"Why  have  I  been  sent  for?"  the  king  asked. 

And  instantly  Lagardere  answered  him:  "To  wit- 
ness my  restoration  of  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  de 
Nevers  to  her  mother."  As  he  spoke  he  moved  tow- 
ards the  princess,  and  gave  Gabrielle  to  her  out- 
stretched arms. 

298 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

The  Princess  gave  a  cry  of  joy.  "She  has  the  face 
of  Louis!  She  is  my  child!" 

Gonzague  tried  to  speak,  and  failed;  tried  to  speak 
again,  and  succeeded:  "Your  highness,  I  again  de- 
clare that  I  gave  the  true  Gabrielle  de  Nevers  to  her 
mother.  I  have  the  page  torn  from  the  register  of 
the  chapel  of  Caylus  in  this  sealed  packet."  As  he 
spoke  he  held  out  a  small  sealed  packet,  which  he 
had  drawn  from  his  breast. 

The  king  turned  to  Lagardere.  "What  do  you 
say  to  this?" 

Lagardere  answered:  "That  I  have  kept  my  word. 
I  have  given  back  her  daughter  to  the  princess.  I 
will  now  unmask  the  murderer." 

Again  the  king  questioned  him:  "Where  are  your 
witnesses?" 

Lagardere  turned  and  pointed  with  his  drawn 
sword  to  Gonzague:  "You  are  the  first." 

Gonzague,  trying  hard  to  recover  his  composure, 
raged  at  him:  "Madman!" 

Lagardere  turned  to  the  king  and  spoke  more  sol- 
emnly: "The  second  is  in  the  grave." 

Gonzague  laughed.     "The  dead  cannot  speak." 

Lagardere  still  looked  menacingly  at  Gonzague. 
"To-night  the  dead  will  speak.  The  proofs  of  your 
guilt  are  in  that  sealed  packet,  stolen  from  me  by 
assassins  in  your  pay." 

Gonzague  turned  to  the  king,  protesting:  "Sire!" 

Lagardere  interrupted  him:  " Monseigneur,  he  is 
going  to  say  that  that  packet  contains  only  the  birth- 

299 


THE   DUKE'S    MOTTO 

lines  of  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers — but  there  is  more 
than  that." 

Louis  of  Orleans  turned  his  steady  gaze  on  Louis 
of  Gonzague,  and  read  little  to  comfort  him  in  the 
twitching  face  of  his  life-long  friend.  "Break  the 
seals,  Louis,"  he  commanded. 

Lagardere  spoke,  exultingly:  "Yes,  break  the  seals 
and  read  your  doom,  assassin.  The  packet  contains 
only  the  birth-lines  of  Mademoiselle  de  Nevers,  but 
still  it  contains  the  proof  I  ask.  As  Nevers  lay  dying 
in  my  arms,  he  dipped  his  finger  in  his  blood  and 
traced  on  the  parchment  the  name  of  his  murderer. 
Open  the  packet  and  see  what  name  is  there." 

Now,  while  he  was  speaking,  Gonzague  began  to 
tremble  like  a  man  that  has  the  trembling  sickness; 
but  as  Lagardere  continued  he  seemed  by  a  desperate 
effort  to  stiffen  himself,  and,  moving  slowly,  unob- 
served by  those  present,  who  were  for  the  most  part 
busy  with  looking  upon  Lagardere,  he  neared  a 
candelabrum.  As  Lagardere  uttered  his  last  com- 
mand, Gonzague  thrust  the  packet  that  he  held  into 
the  flame  of  the  candle,  and  in  a  moment  the  flame 
ran  along  the  paper,  lapping  it  and  consuming  it. 
The  king  and  Lagardere  both  saw  the  despairing 
deed. 

The  king  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Louis!"  he 
cried,  and  could  say  no  more. 

Gonzague  dropped  the  burning  paper  from  his 
ringers,  and  it  fell  in  ashes  upon  the  floor. 

Lagardere  lifted  his  sword  in  triumph.  "The  dead 
300 


THE   DUKE'S   MOTTO 

speaks!  There  was  nothing  written  on  that  paper. 
His  name  was  not  there,  but  his  own  deed  has  set  it 
there." 

The  eyes  of  all  were  fixed  upon  the  face  of  Gon- 
zague,  and  the  face  of  Gonzague  was  an  ugly  sight 
to  see.  Hatred  and  despair  struggled  there  for  mas- 
tery— hatred  and  despair,  and  the  hideous  sense  of 
hopeless,  ignominious,  public  failure  after  a  lifetime 
of  triumphant  crime. 

"Louis!"  cried  the  king  again.  "Louis!  Assas- 
sin!" 

In  a  moment  Gonzague 's  sword  was  unsheathed, 
and  he  leaped  across  the  space  that  divided  him  from 
Lagardere,  striking  furiously  for  Lagardere's  heart. 
But  Lagardere  was  ready  for  him,  and,  with  a  familiar 
trick  of  the  fencing  -  schools,  wrenched  Gonzague 's 
weapon  from  his  fingers  and  flung  it  to  the  floor.  A 
dozen  hands  seized  Gonzague — the  hands  of  those 
that  once  had  been  proud  to  call  themselves  his 
friends. 

Lagardere  turned  to  the  king,  appealingly:  "Mon- 
seigneur,  I  cry  a  favor.  Let  me  support  this  quarrel 
with  my  sword,  and  God  defend  the  right." 

The  king  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  trying  to  set 
himself  right  with  a  world  that  had  suddenly  changed 
for  him.  Surely,  it  would  be  better  to  let  it  end  so, 
whatever  came  of  it.  He  turned  to  Lagardere,  and 
bowed  his  head  in  silent  approval:  "As  you  will." 

Suddenly,  then,  the  Princess  de  Gonzague,  clinging 
to  the  child  in  her  arms,  cried  out,  calling  to  Chaver- 

301 


THE    DUKE'S   MOTTO 

nay:  "Monsieur  de  Chavernay,  in  yonder  alcove  lies 
the  sword  of  my  dead  husband.  Fetch  it,  and  give 
it  to  Monsieur  de  Lagardere." 

In  a  frightful  silence  Chavernay  crossed  the  room, 
entered  the  alcove,  and  came  forth  holding  the  sword 
of  Louis  de  Nevers  in  his  hand — the  sword  that  Louis 
de  Nevers  had  used  so  valiantly  on  the  night  of 
Caylus.  Silently  he  offered  it  to  Lagardere,  and 
silently  Lagardere,  giving  the  weapon  he  held  to 
Cocardasse,  took  the  sword  of  Nevers  from  the  hands 
of  Chavernay.  Thereafter  Lagardere  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  fallen  sword  of  Gonzague.  Then,  ad- 
vancing towards  his  enemy,  he  made  a  sign  to  those 
that  held  him  to  release  their  captive — a  sign  that  was 
immediately  obeyed.  He  held  out  the  weapon  by 
its  blade  to  Gonzague,  who  caught  it.  In  another 
moment  the  two  men  were  engaged  in  combat. 

On  the  walls  the  impassive  portraits  of  the  Three 
Louis  looked  on  while  one  of  the  Three  Louis  fought 
for  his  shameful  life,  while  another  of  the  Three  Louis 
sat  in  heart-broken  judgment  upon  him,  and  while 
the  widow  of  another  of  the  Three  Louis  sat  clasping 
in  her  arms  the  child  she  had  surrendered  in  the  moat 
of  Caylus  so  many  years  ago. 

Gonzague  was  a  fine  swordsman,  and  Gonzague 
fought  for  his  life,  but  he  did  not  fight  long.  Sud- 
denly Lagardere's  arm  and  Lagardere's  sword  seemed 
to  extend,  the  blade  gleamed  in  the  flare  of  the  flam- 
beaux, and  Gonzague  reeled  and  dropped. 

"Nine,"  said  Cocardasse,  thoughtfully. 
302 


THE    DUKE'S    MOTTO 

Passepoil  placed  his  forefinger  between  his  brows. 
"The  thrust  of  Nevers,"  he  murmured. 

Lagardere  lifted  his  blood-dyed  sword  and  saluted 
the  picture  of  Louis  of  Nevers.  "After  the  lackeys 
the  master.  Nevers,  I  have  kept  my  word." 

Then  he  let  fall  his  weapon,  for  the  soft  arms  of 
Gabrielle  were  about  his  neck. 


THE    END 


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